"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake-- It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife." "Why, so it is father--whose wife shall I take?"

"Oh, call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold."

"Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh! still remember me!"

"All that's bright must fade,— The brightest and the fleetest; All that's sweet was made, But to be lost when sweetest."

"Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe: Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away! Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore."

"Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free."

"Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid."

"With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heav'nly light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight: Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, That calls each slumb'ring passion into play."

"What potent spirit guides the raptur'd eye To pierce the shades of dim futurity? Can Wisdom lend, with all her heav'nly pow'r, The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour? Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man— Her dim horizon bounded to a span; Or, if she hold an image to the view, Tis nature pictur'd too severely true."

"When peace and mercy, banish'd from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heav'n again; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind."

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief "Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! O my daughter!"

"Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare, From Carmel's height, to sweep the fields of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world — a sacred gift to man."

"'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue."

"O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!"

"An original something, fair maid, you would win me To write — but how shall I begin? For I fear I have nothing original in me — Excepting Original Sin."

"Now Barabbas was a publisher."

"Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all."

"Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, Whose truths electrify the sage."

"There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill."

"And rustic life and poverty Grow beautiful beneath his touch."

"A chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry!""

"The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more."

""Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter."

"Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked—as Kosciusko fell!"

"Life is a waste of wearisome hours Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns."

"On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below."

"Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore."

"And rival all but Shakespeare's name below."

"The falling of fountains—the slight summer rain— The voice of the dove, were less sweet than thy strain; Till stirred with delight, would her exquisite wings Beat time on the west wind, to echo thy strings."

"Humility, that low, sweet root From which all heavenly virtues shoot."

"If thou would'st have me sing and play As once I play'd and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung."

"When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power."

"To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by."

"Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?"

"I give thee all,—I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee."

"To Greece we give our shining blades."

"Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains."

"The bird let loose in Eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way."

"A friendship that like love is warm; A love like friendship, steady."

"This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,— There's nothing true but Heaven."

"As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!"

"Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!"

"If I speak to thee in friendship's name, Thou think'st I speak too coldly; If I mention love's devoted flame, Thou say'st I speak too boldly."

"And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls."

"As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee."

"I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, I but know that I love thee whatever thou art."