“ And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile and say, my all was not laid here.
Come Disappointment, come!
Though from hope's summit hurl'd, Still rigid nurse thou art forgiven, For thou severe wert sent from Heaven
To wean me from the world;
To turn my eye From vanity And point to scenes of bliss, that never, never die !
What is this passing scene ? A peevish April day ! A little sun—a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain And all things fade away. Man soon Yields up his trust And all his hopes lie with him in the dust!
Oh, what is beauty's power ? ”

“ Which vice doth still provoke;
Pomp, unprompt; and fame a flume; Power, a smouldering smoke.
Who meaneth to remove the rock
Out of his slimy mud; Shall mire himself, and hardly 'scape
The swelling of the flood.
Rarely they rise by virtue's aid, who lie Plung'd in the depths of helpless poverty.
It is not poverty so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined man—the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse—the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. Have the courage to appear poor and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting. ”

“ To kindred emotion each feeling beguiles;
The softness of sorrow no magic can borrow
To vie with the splendour of " Beauty in Smiles."
Man roves thro' creation a wandering stranger,
A dupe to its follies, a slave to its toils;
But bright o'er the billows of doubt and of danger
The rainbow of promise is " Beauty in Smiles."
As the rays of the sun o'er the bosom of nature,
Renew every flower which the tempest despoils;
So joy's faded blossom in man's aching bosom,
Revives in the sunshine of " Beauty in Smiles." ”

“ No radiant pearl which crested fortune wears, No gem that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears, Not the bright stars which heaven's high arch adorn. Nor vernal sun that gilds the rising morn, Shine with such lustre as the tears that break, For other's woe, down virtue's manly cheek.
Sincerity is an openness of the heart which is rarely to be found; that which commonly personates it is a refined dissimulation, whose end is to procure confidence. A desire to talk of ourselves, and to set our faults in whatever light we choose, makes the main of our sincerity. ”

“ Which comes o'er the bosom, like day o'er the billow To mariners weary and wild with despair;
Which brightens the dungeon, and softens the pillow, And smiles like a rose on our wilderness here.
The mighty and proud in their mansions of pleasure,
May squander their blessings in madness away; The miser may worship his cankering treasure,
Th' atheist deride, and the hypocrite pray With his lips, while his soul is enslaved by ambition; But the being who reigns o'er yon beautiful sphere, Heads the heart, and remembers the sigh of contrition, Nor bruises the reed that is broken and sear. ”

“ The tears that trickle o'er another's woe,
The silent drop that calms our own distress
The gust of rapture at a friend's success.
Thine the soft show'rs down beauty's breast that steal
To soothe the heart-wounds they can never heal;
Thine too, the tears of extasy that roll,
When genius whispers to the list'ning soul:
And thine the hallow'd flood that drowns the eye,
When pure religion lifts the thoughts on high.
Nobility may exist in name, the sovereign may confer titles, the herald blazon out the descent, but solid glory and real greatness are inseparably connected with virtue. ”

“ Bounding billows! cease thy motion
Bear me not so swiftly o'er;
Cease thy roarings, foamy ocean,
I will tempt thy rage no more.
Ah! within my bosom beating,
Varying passions wildly reign;
Love! with proud resentment meeting,
Throbs by turns with joy and pain.
Joy! that far from foes I wander,
Where their taunts can reach no more;
Pain! that woman's heart grows fonder,
When her dream of bliss is o'er.
Love, by fickle fancy banished,
Spurn'd by hope, indignant flies:
Yet, when love and hope arc vanished,
Restless mem'ry never dies. ”

“ The infidel's heaven, is " Beauty in Smiles."
Liberty, like Love, is as hard to keep as to win, and the exertions by which it was originally gained, will be worse than fruitless, if they be not followed up by the assiduities by which alone it can be preserved.
The heart may languish, and the eye may weep,
For those whom heaven has called from life and care;
Yet there's an earthly pang than these more deep,
Which sharpens sorrow, and which brings despair,
Which wrings the heart, and lays the bosom bare. ”

“ On scenes of public sorrow and national regret we gaze as upon those gallery-pictures which strike us with wonder and admiration : domestic calamity is like the miniature of a friend, which we wear in our bosoms, and keep for secret looks and solitary enjoyment.
Gentlb River! gentle river! Wilt thou thus complain for ever ? Why, when nought obstructs thy flow, Dost thou sigh, and murmuring low, Strike my ear with sounds of woe ? Is it that some sandbank's force For an instant stay'd thy course ? Has some shoal or rugged rock Stemm'd thy waves with sudden shock ? ”

“ It rises slow, and blooms—but ne'er was known To ripen here—the climate is too cold.
When man has shut the door unkind On Pity, earth's divinest guest,
The wanderer never fails to find A sweet abode in Woman's breast.
A Mas that hath no virtue in himself, ever envieth virtue in others; for men's minds will either feed upon their own good, or upon other's evil; and who wanteth the one will prey upon the other; and whoso is out of hope to attain another's virtue will seek to come at even hand by depressing another's fortune. ”

“ On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear, That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
1 may look back on every sorrow past,
And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile;— As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam of the transient shower, Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:— Yet, ah ! how much must that poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure! ”

“ Oh! there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name she will still love and cherish him ”

“ The woods were peopled with their fame; The silent pillar, lone and gray, Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay; Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain; The meanest rill, the mightiest river, Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever. Despite of every yoke she bears, That land is glory's still and theirs! 'Tis still a watch-word to the earth: When man would do a deed of worth He points to Greece and turns to tread, So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head: He looks to her, and rushes on Where life is lost, or freedom won. ”

“ Now faded, forlorn, scarce the wreck of its charms,
Remain e'en for fancy's renewing; Its branches are bare, and exposed are its thorns,
And it lays the pale victim of ruin.
Discontent is the mildew that fades on the mind, That robs the warm cheek of its roses;
That cankers the breast of the rude or refin'd, Where'er it a moment reposes.
'Tis a wizard, whose touch withers beauty away, And denies every pleasure to blossom;
Insidiously creeps to the heart of its prey, And invites cold despair to the bosom. ”

“ Weep, daughter of a noble line, A sire's disgrace, his fame's decay;
Ah ! happy if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away.
Weep—for thy tears are virtue's tears, Shed for a parent's wanton wiles,
And be each drop in future years, Repaid thee by a mother's smiles.
THE COMEDY OF LIFE.
The world is the stage; men are the actors; the events of life form the piece; fortune distributes the parts; religion governs the performance; philosophers are the spectators; the opulent occupy the boxes ”

“ The crowd is gone, the travellers at rest, The courteous host and all-approving guest, Again to that accustom'd couch must creep Where joy subsides, and sorrow sighs to sleep, And man o'er laboured with his being's strife, Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life.
There lie love's feverish hope, and cunning's guile, Hate's working brain, and lull'd ambition's wile, O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave, And quench'd existence crouches in a grave. ”

“ And litill is iix'd, as loth the sight to leave, Till lingering hope, no longer can deceive, Till all is o'er, and the fond ear in vain Listens to catch the faint short breath again; Has she no voice? What eloquence of speech Can like her simple heartfelt language teach ?
Those only who have felt what it was to have the genial current of their souls chilled by neglect, or changed by unkindness, can sympathize in the feelings of wounded affection, when the overflowings of a generous heart are confined within the limits of its own bosom. ”

“ Oh Poverty! thou art indeed omnipotent! Thou grindest us into desperation; thou confoundest all our boasted and most deep-rooted principles; thou fillest us to the very brim with malice and revenge, and renderest us capable of acts of unknown horror ! May I never be visited by thee in the fulness of thy power.
Godwin.
CONSOLATION.
Yes, there is a Being benignant above us, To shelter in sorrow, and cherish in care:
Yes, there is a power to pity and love us— A balm for the wounded, a beam for the tear ”

“ What better name may slumber's bed become ? Night's sepulchre, the universal home, Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk supine, Alike in naked helplessness recline.
Glad for awhile to heave unconscious breath, Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death; And shun, though day but dawn on ills increased, That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least.
Bykon.
Poverty, if it be a fault, is its own punishment; who pays more for it, pays use upon use.
Cleveland.
Never was that man merry that had more than one woman in his bed, one friend in his bosom, one faith in his heart. ”

“ Man is the creature of interest and ambition.—His nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's thought, and dominion over his fellow men. But a woman's whole life is a history of the affections. The heart is her world; it is there her ambition strives for empire ”

“ Thou who slumber'st not, nor steepest, Blest are they thou kindly keepest! Spirits, from the ocean under, Liquid flame, and levell'd thunder, Need not waken nor alarm them— All combined, they cannot harm them. God of evening's yellow ray; God of yonder dawning day, That rises from the distant sea Like breathings of eternity ! Thine the flaming sphere of light! Thine the darkness of the night!
Thine are all the gems of even, God of angels ! God of heaven! God of life, that fade shall never, Glory to thy name for ever. ”

“ To weary wanderers given, There is a tear for souls distrest A balm, for every wounded breast, Tis found above in Heaven!
There is a soft, a downy bed,
'Tis fair as breath of even, A couch for weary mortals spread, Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose—in Heaven !
There, Faith lifts up the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven, And views the tempest passing by, The evening shadows quickly fly, And all's serene in Heaven. ”

“ During the hours of regret we recal the images of departed joys, and in weeping over each tender remembrance, tears so softly shed embalm the wounds of grief. To be denied the privilege of pouring forth our love and our lamentations over the grave of one who in life was our happiness, is to shut up the soul of the survivor in a solitary tomb, where the bereaved heart pines in secret till it breaks with the fulness of uncommunicated sorrow: but listen to the mourner ”

“ In a vigorous well governed and actively employed mind Love rarely becomes that resistless tyrant vanity and romances represent him. His empire is divided by the love of fame or the desire of usefulness, the eagerness of research, or the triumph of discovery.
Yes Lady, I have loved, and few can guess How rough the wound that hath this bosom tore From all we prize on earth—the deep distress Which sleeps not, dies not—'till we hreathe no more; There is a sorrow, which doth more than weep, And tears, it were a mockery to shed ”

“ Pleasures of short duration, seem to present themselves, only to punish us with regret for their departure.
It is doubtless hard to die; but it is agreeable to hope we shall not live here for ever, and that a better life will put an end to the troubles of this. If we were offered immortality on earth, who is there would accept so melancholy a gift ? What resource, what hope, what consolation would then be left us against the rigour of fortune, and the injustice of mankind? ”

“ And if in the full enjoyment of every species of worldly prosperity, we neglect to pause in the midst of our enjoyment to acknowledge the giver of all good gifts, with what heart can we in the hour of adversity fly for protection to divine goodness ?
Look not thou on beauty's charming, Sit thou still when kings' are arming, Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens, Stop thine ear against the singer, From the red gold keep thy finger, Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live, and quiet die. ”

“ What a consolation is it to have a second self, from whom we have nothing secret, and into whose heart we may pour our own with perfect effusion ! Could we taste prosperity so sensibly, if we had no one to share in our joy with us? And what a relief is it in adversity, and the accidents of life, to have a friend still more affected with them than ourselves! ”

“ When sorrow weeps o'er virtue's sacred dust, Our tears become us, and our grief is just; Such were the tears he shed, who grateful pays This last sad tribute of his love and praise : Who mourns the best of wives and friends combin'd, Where female softness met a manly mind : Mourns, but not murmurs, sighs, but not despairs, Feels as a man, and as a Christian bears. ”