LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. [What could be finer than the following verses penned by Lord Byron, at Malta, September 14, 1809, in the album of some otherwise forgotten beauty?] As o'er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer by; And when by thee that name is read, And think my heart is buried here. ALBUM VERSES. VARIOUS AUTHORS. A SOLEMN murmur in the soul As travelers hear the billows roll FROM BAILEY'S FESTUS. Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths. We never see the slas till we saw i 2014 It is much less what we do, Than what we think, which fits us for the future. All aspiration is a toil; But inspiration cometh from above, Respect is what we owe; love what we give, We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He lives most Who thinks most-feels the noblest-acts the best. دند. A little word in kindness spoken, A motion, or a tear, Has often healed the heart that's broken, The drying up a single tear has more Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again,- Whatsoe'er of beauty Yearns and yet reposes, Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath, Took a shape in roses. -Byron. -Bryant. "Woman!" With that word Life's dearest hopes and memories come, In the green bower of home. Beware the bowl! though rich and bright An adder coils its depth beneath, Whose lure is woe, whose sting is death. ALBUM VERSES. A smile of hope from those we love, 'Tis not in fate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to me; 'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shar'd with thee. One minute's dream about thee Were worth a long and endless year Of waking bliss without thee, My own love, my only dear! Only the actions of the just 397 -Tom Moore. Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more. —J. Shirley. -Sir R. Lovelace. Το you no soul shall bear deceit, No stranger offer wrong; But friends in all the aged you'll meet, And lovers in the young. -R. B. Sheridan Reader, attend,-whether thy soul Know prudent, cautious self-control -R. Burns. I can not give what men call love; -P. B. Shelley Better trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Had blessed one's life with true believing. O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth; Than lose the blessed hope of truth. -Frances Anne Kemble, So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, |