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, It Poor little head! that long has done with aching. may have held (to shoot some random shots) CCCCIII. JOHN ASKHAM. SELF-SOUGHT SORROW. 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, ADDITIONAL. I.-W. BROwn. A lovely maiden, pure and chaste, Prepares for sweetest rest, while sylvans greet her, II.-COLLEY CIBBER. 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 swee 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 mine ear, And, on night's solitude, their changes pou, 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, [flow. Thy tones, no more depress'd, now high and teav'nward At once I mount on faith's sustaining wing, Forget my losses in my lov'd ones' gains, And taste a peace surpassing words to tell; IV.-AMBROSE PHILIPS. Though plunged in ille and exercis'd in care, And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with grief, INDEX. 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. Bellona, 190. BENTHAM, JEREMY, 401. BERKELEY, BISHOP, 260. Birds, To the, 546. BISHOP, SAMUEL, 361. BLACKLOCK, THOMAS, 340. BLACKMORE SIR RICHARD, 188-190. BLAIR, ROBERT, 272. Blame not my lute, 8. Blind Boy, The, 633. BLIND HARRY, 5. Blindness, 194. BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT, 448-450. Blossom, Lines to, 121. Boadicea, 368. 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. |