And thou, O Trouble?—nothing can suppose, So free and liberal as thy bounty flows, The universal plagues of life below, Are mysteries still 'neath Fate's unbroken seal. And what is Death?-is still the cause unfound? Then what is Life?-When stripp'd of its disguise, Since every thing that meets our foolish eyes 'Tis but a trial all must undergo; To teach unthankful mortals how to prize CLARE. THE wise and active conquer difficulties THERE are few spirits which cannot be overcome if dexterously attacked; but with the fierce and daring, force and violence will generally be found useless. It should be remembered that, like madness, these disturbed characters see not things as they are; and, like martyrs and fanatics, they attach a degree of glory to every privation and punishment in the noble cause of opposition to what, they conceive, unjust authority. Such a character is open and guileless; but unhappily, the very circumstance that makes it sincere renders it also, if misturned, desperate and hardened. SEE! how round yon branching elm the ivy Twines its green chain, and poisons what supports it. Not less injurious to the blooming shoots Of growing love, is sickly jealousy. MASON. SLEEP steals on us even like his brother Death, HERBERT. EVERY desire is a viper in the bosom, who, while he was chill, was harmless; but when warmth gave him strength, exerted it in poison. DR. JOHNSON. REAL glory Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves : But the first slave. THOMSON. HABITUAL evils change not on a sudden, ROWE. TRUE Courage is not the brutal force WHITEHEAD. L'AMOUR propre est, hélas ! le plus sot des amours. TO BLOSSOMS. FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay here yet awhile What, were ye born to be And so to bid good night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth, But you are lovely leaves, where we And, after they have shewn their pride Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave. HERRICK THIS truth how certain when this life is o'er; C LET Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which he cannot destroy; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features which joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd, You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. MOORE. WHAT strange creatures are the greatest part of mankind! what a composition of contradictions! always pursuing happiness, yet generally through such ways as lead to misery: admiring every virtue in others, indulging themselves in every vice: fond of fame, yet labouring for infamy. DODLEY. THE honours of a name 'tis just to guard; SHIRLEY. FELL star of fate! thou never canst employ STRANGFORD'S CAMOENS. |