Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.
The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those who feel.
Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys,
And eagerly pursues imaginary joys.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze,
And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore,
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease!
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew,
'T was certain he could write and cipher too.
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
'T was only that when he was off he was acting.
One writer, for instance, excels at a plan or a title-page, another works away the body of the book, and a third is a dab at an index.
There is America, which at this day serves for little more than to amuse you with stories of savage men and uncouth manners, yet shall, before you taste of death, show itself equal to the whole of that commerce which now attracts the envy of the world.
The worthy gentleman who has been snatched from us at the moment of the election, and in the middle of the contest, whilst his desires were as warm and his hopes as eager as ours, has feelingly told us what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue.
It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in,--glittering like the morning star full of life and splendour and joy.... Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men,--in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded.
Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd,
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard:
To carry nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Praise enough
To fill the ambition of a private man,
That Chatham's language was his mother tongue.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet!
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.
Cold on Canadian hills or Minden's plain,
Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;
Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew
Gave the sad presage of his future years,--
The child of misery, baptized in tears.
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
The reign of Antoninus is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials for history, which is indeed little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind.