"The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee."

"So gleams the past, the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays."

"Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom. And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away; we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress; Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou—who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet."

"She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

"He left a corsair's name to other times, Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes."

"No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe."

"Farewell! For in that word, that fatal word,—howe'er We promise, hope, believe,—there breathes despair."

"Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell!"

"There was a laughing devil in his sneer."

"Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one!"

"The power of thought,—the magic of the mind!"

"She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife."

"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 22 Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limit to their sway,— Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey."

"Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried."

"The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse."

"She was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire."

"I die — but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed."

"The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name."

"Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock."

"The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed."

"And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame."

"For freedom's battle, once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won."

"Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee?"

"Such is the aspect of this shore; 'T is Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there."

"He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled,— The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, Before decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers."

"Hark! to the hurried question of despair: "Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?""

"Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease! He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace!"

"Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!"

"The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle."

"Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confess The might, the majesty of loveliness?"

"The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, 19 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,— And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!"

"Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?"

"Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!"

"Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,— Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best."

"'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low: So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart."

"Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name!"

"Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye."

"As soon Seek roses in December, ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore."

"With just enough of learning to misquote."

"A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure — critics are ready-made."

"'Tis pleasure, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't."

"I'll publish right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let satire be my song."

"What say you to such a supper with such a woman?"