Thou art so full of misery

At length one whispered his companion, who Whispered another, and thus it went round, And then into a hoarser murmur grew, An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound; And when his comrade’s thought each sufferer knew, ’Twas but his own, suppressed till now, he found, And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, And who should die to be his fellows’ food.—BYRON. “You must know, gentlemen, that five…

A wind that follows fast

Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’, Both to Portingale and Spain; Drums are batin’, colours flyin’, And the divil a back we’ll come again. So, love, farewell, we’re all for marchin’! Eighty-eighth and Inniskillin’, Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’; Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down, Stand by the harp, and stand by the crown. So, love, farewell, we’re all for marchin’! The colonel cries, “Boys, are yee’s ready?” “We’re at…

If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill

Your words have took such pains, as if they laboured To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling Upon the head of valour:— He’s truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides; wear them like his raiment carelessly, And ne’er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, What folly…

Can bid its gloom depart

But the spite on’t is, no praise Is due at all to me; Love with me hath made mad no staies Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this Twelve dozen in her place. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. Promptly, by an early train, Willie Pitblado arrived with the cash from M’Goldrick, and with that which alike…

And life a weary dream!

Oh, for the wings we used to wear, When the heart was like a bird, And floated through the summer air, And painted all it looked on fair, And sung to all it heard! When fancy put the seal of truth On all the promises of youth! HERVEY. To have introduced myself abruptly to Mr. De Warr Berkeley’s wedded wife, if he had one, might be explained away satisfactorily enough;…

Troubles her sleeping image in the tide

Still as a moonlight ruin is thy power, Or meekness of carved marble, that hath prayed For ages on a tomb; serenely laid As some fair vessel that hath braved the storm, And passed into her haven, when the noise That cheered her home hath all to silence died, Her crew have shoreward parted, and no voice Troubles her sleeping image in the tide. ALFORD. My mind was a prey…

And feed upon the shadow of perfection

And why not death, rather than live in torment? To die is to be banished from myself; And Sylvia is myself: banished from her Is self from self; a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Sylvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. SHAKSPEARE. While yet half-slept, and…

It passed—and never marble looked more pale Than Lucy, while she listened to his tale. He marked her not; his eye was cold and clear, Fixed on a bed of withering roses there; He marked her not, for different thoughts possessed His anxious mind, and laboured in his breast. ELLIS.

Notwithstanding all that had passed, and that we had been carried so far in the wrong direction, we were not long behind the rest of our party in reaching Calderwood, where the history of our disaster fully eclipsed for the evening all the exciting details of the fox-hunters, though many gentlemen in scarlet, with spattered tops and tights, whom Sir Nigel had brought, made the drawing-room look unusually gay. Lady…