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Robed in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air;) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. Gray.
All to nothing swiftly tend,
From the French of Wace. 1.-I am a bard
2.- Peace, peace! I know you well, I've heard your verses by the hour, sir, twanged To rascal viols, through rogues' noses-pah! Just at my hour of sleep. I'll have thee banged For scurvy rhymes. Thou'st spread a plague so foul, So foolish, that our women learn to spell; Vay, kings decipher, and our lords are mad Until they can write nonsense. Till thou cam’st We were all pure in happy ignorance, Content—with love, sport, wine; and thought of nothing, Save what should be for dinner.
BARGAIN. BARGE. BARK.
Henry is able to enrich his queen;
BARGE. The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were
silver, Which to the time of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of the strokes. * * * At the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swells with the touches of these flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs.
Shakspere. Placed in a gilded burge, Proud with the burden of so sweet a charge; With painted oars the youths began to sweep Neptune's smooth face.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Granville. Oh, youth, and love, which is the light of youth, Why pass ye as the morning? Life goes on, But like a burk that first in carelessness, And afterwards in fear of each rough gale, Has flung her richest freightage overboard.
Miss Landon. See, see, my friends, this light and tiny bark,
Upon the waves of life launched forth anew;
Be we the first to serve her as a crew.
Let us who see the voyage commencing here,
C. C. Colton.
And, ever and anon, with rosy red,
Such looks, such bashfulness might well adorn
I pity bashful men who feel the pain
Even pity scarce can wish it less. Byron.
The delighted spirit. To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice.--Shakspere.
The gallants dancing by the river's side,
Neglecting over long
The ramble up the slope
Of the high mountain cope---
The fresh, luxurious bath,
Far from the trodden path, Or 'mid the ocean waves dashing with harmless roar, Lifting us off our feet upon the sandy shore.
BATTLE. THEREWITH they 'gan, both furious and fell, To thunder blowes, and fiercely to assaile Each other, bent his enemy to quell, That with their force they perst both plate and maile, And made wide furrows in their fleshes fraile, That it would pity any living eye. Large floods of blood adowne their sides did raile, But floods of blood could not them satisfie: Both hungred after death; both chose to win or die.
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