"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell— Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die."

"'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail."

"Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution, Who told him to be damn'd—in his confusion."

"There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion."

"At leaving even the most unpleasant people And places, one keeps looking at the steeple."

"The best of remedies is a beef-steak Against sea-sickness: try it, sir, before You sneer, and I assure you this is true, For I have found it answer—so may you."

"I can’t but say it is an awkward sight To see one’s native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new:"

"Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails."

"Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain."

"What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their ‘midnight taper,’ To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust."

"The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice I think I must take up with avarice."

"I was most ready to return a blow, And would not brook at all this sort of thing In my hot youth, when George the Third was king."

"My grandmother's review—the British."

"I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies; Should captains the remark, or critics, make, They also lie too—under a mistake."

"Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey; Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy: With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy: Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor Commit—flirtation with the muse of Moore."

"If ever I should condescend to prose, I'll write poetical commandments, which Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those That went before; in these I shall enrich My text with many things that no one knows, And carry precept to the highest pitch: I'll call the work "Longinus o'er a Bottle, Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle.""

"A panoramic view of hell's in training, After the style of Virgil and of Homer, So that my name of Epic's no misnomer."

"My heart is feminine, nor can forget— To all, except one image, madly blind; So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole, As vibrates my fond heart to my fix’d soul."

"Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone."

"His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole.""

"But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil."

"She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears, Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil, Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail, To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears Its snow through all;—her soft lips lie apart, And louder than her breathing beats her heart."

"And truant husband should return, and say, "My dear, I was the first who came away.""

"Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure."

"But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love—it stands alone, Like Adam's recollection of his fall; The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd—all's known— And life yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven."

"'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, By blood or ink; 'tis sweet to put an end To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels, Particularly with a tiresome friend: Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels; Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot."

"Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth, Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes From civic revelry to rural mirth; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps, Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, Sweet is revenge—especially to women, Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen."

"'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words."

"'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky."

"But who, alas! can love, and then be wise? Not that remorse did not oppose temptation; A little still she strove, and much repented And whispering "I will ne'er consent"—consented."

"The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon: The devil's in the moon for mischief; they Who call'd her , methinks, began too soon Their nomenclature; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way On which three single hours of moonshine smile— And then she looks so modest all the while."

"'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted."

"He thought about himself, and the whole earth Of man the wonderful, and of the stars, And how the deuce they ever could have birth; And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars, How many miles the moon might have in girth, Of air-balloons, and of the many bars To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies;— And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes."

"Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did."

"A quiet conscience makes one so serene!"

"Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it."

"What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, Is much more common where the climate's sultry."

"The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone."

"That indecent sun, Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, But will keep baking, broiling, burning on."

"She, in sooth, Possess'd an air and grace by no means common: Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman."

"Her glossy hair was cluster’d o’er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth; Her eyebrow’s shape was like th’ aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting at times to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning."

"Her eye (I’m very fond of handsome eyes) Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise Flash’d an expression more of pride than ire, And love than either; and there would arise A something in them which was not desire, But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul Which struggled through and chasten’d down the whole."

"She Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three."

"The darkness of her Oriental eye Accorded with her Moorish origin (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by; In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin); When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly, Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain, Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain. She married (I forget the pedigree) With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down His blood less noble than such blood should be; At such alliances his sires would frown, In that point so precise in each degree That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins—nay, their aunts, and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh; For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh; The sons no more were short, the daughters plain."

"But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with "Formosum Pastor Corydon.""

"The languages, especially the dead, The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read."

"Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection."

"Don Jóse and the Donna Inez led For some time an unhappy sort of life, Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead."

"A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing, And mischief-making monkey from his birth."