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Did she live yesterday or ages back ?
What colour were the eyes when bright and waking? And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,
Poor little head! that long has done with aching.
may have held (to shoot some random shots)
CCCCIII. JOHN ASKHAM.
We lay up for ourselves life-long regrets,
O'er which the troubled spirit broods and frets
We turn away good angels from the door,
With smiles, to be our guests for evermore,
We chase vain shadows, which our grasp elude
And find too late the phantoms we pursued
We make unto ourselves a thousand foes
We pluck the briar, when we might pull the rose,
We read true wisdom at life's closing page
Ana while we ponder oe'r the lesson sage,
A lovely maiden, pure and chaste,
Prepares for sweetest rest, while sylvans greet her,
The Blind Boy.
O say, what is that thing call'd light,
You talk of wondrous things you see;
My day or night myself I make
Then let not what I cannot have
III. JACOB JONES.
Sonnets to the Nightingale.
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet A nightingale, by any other name,
His ear-entrancing love-notes would repeat,
Notes that no charm but love fulfill'd could tame, When, o'er his nested mate and chirping young, His silence watches of his instinct sprung. Thy ev'ry name is, like thyself, a spell; A keynote typing how thy tunes prevail; Sweet Bulbul-once, Aëdon-PhilomelLuscinia-Rossignol-our, Nightingale. Sing on, rare bird! at ev'ning's fragrant hour, Till all the echoes all thy strains prolong; Thy magic modulations have the power To recreate my soul as with a bath of song. They call thee sad,—but sadness such as thine To Sorrow's self were exquisite relief: They say thou griev'st,--then grief is half divine Warbled by thee-the very joy of grief.
What time thy plainings melt upon
And, on night's solitude, their changes po, My own past griefs in Men'ry's glass appear, And my lost lov'd ones live-to die once more,—
Once more my utter anguish to renew,
My desolation, and my blank dismay,
So deeply lov'd, so loveable were they, So truly portions of ourselves they grow; But, as I writhe in earth-regarding woe,
Thy tones, no more depress'd, now high and teav'nward
At once I mount on faith's sustaining wing,
Which, for their early bliss, gives God my thanks.
Forget my losses in my lov'd ones' gains,
And taste a peace surpassing words to tell; Night, and the stars, responsive, as mine ears, Thy melodies entwine with music of the spheres.
Though plunged in ille and exercis'd in care,
And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with grief,
BAILLIE, JOANNA, 444, 446.
BARNARD, LADY ANN, 403.
BARTAM, RICHARD H., 533.
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, 103, 105.
Beauty, 185, 191, 554.
Beauty, Unfading, 116.
Beaux and Belles, 305.
Bee, The, 359.
Beggar's Petition, The, 283.
BEHN, APHRA, 196.
BELL, H. G. 628.
BENTHAM, JEREMY, 401.
BERKELEY, BISHOP, 260
Birds, To the, 546.
BISHOP, SAMUEL, 361.
BLACKMORE SIR RICHARD, 188-190.
BLAIR, ROBERT, 272.
Blame not my lute, 8.
Blind Boy, The, 633.
BLIND HARRY, 5.
BLOOMFIELD, Robert, 448-450.
Blossom, Lines to, 121.
Boar, The Wild, 187.
BOLINGBROKE, VISCOUNT, 222.
BONAR, HORATIUS, 622.
Books, 110, 616.
BOSWELL, SIR A., 480.
Bosworth Field, 99.
BOURD, ANDREW, 9.
Bowl, The, 195.
BOWLES, W. LISLE, 239.