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22

ADIEU-FAREWELL-PARTING.

21. And now farewell! farewell!-I dare not lengthen
These sweet, sad moments out; to gaze on thee
Is bliss indeed, yet it but serves to strengthen
The love that now amounts to agony:

This is our last farewell-our last fond meeting;
The world is wide, and we must dwell apart;
My spirit gives thee now its last fond greeting,
With lip to lip, while pulse to pulse is beating,
And heart to heart.
MRS. A. B. WELBY.

22. I heard thy low whisper'd farewell, love,
And silently saw thee depart―
Ay, silent for how could words tell, love,

The sorrow that swell'd in my heart?
Yet, tearless and mute though I stood, love,
Thy last words are thrilling me yet,

And my heart would have breathed, if it could, love,
And murmur'd-"O! do not forget!"

MRS. FRANCES OSGOOD.

23. Where'er I go, whate'er my lonely state,
Yet grateful memory shall linger here,

And when, perhaps, you're musing o'er my fate,
You still may greet me with a tender tear;

Ah! then, forgive me-pitied let me part,

Your frowns, too sure, would break my sinking heart.

24. We met ere yet the world had come

To wither up the springs of youth;

Amid the holy joys of home,

And in the first warm blush of youth.

We parted, as they never part

Whose tears are doom'd to be forgot;
Oh! by that agony of heart,
Forget me not-forget me not!

25. "T was bitter then to rend the heart
With the sad word that we must part,

And, like some low and mournful spell,

To whisper but one word-farewell!

26. Life hath as many farewells

PARK BENJAMIN.

As it hath sunny hours,

And over some are scatter'd thorns,

And over others, flowers.

27. And now, fair ladies, one and all, adieu,

MRS. L. P. SMITH.

Good luck, good husbands, and good bye to you!

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1. So do the winds and thunder cleanse the air,
So working bees settle and purge the wine;
So lopp'd and pruned trees do flourish fair;
So doth the fire the drossy gold refine.

SPENSER'S Fairy Queen.

2. "Tis barbarous to insult a fallen foe.

3. Adversity, sage useful guest,

Severe instructor, but the best,
It is from thee alone we know
Justly to value things below.

SOMERVILE.

SOMERVILE.

4. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain.

SHAKSPEARE.

24

ADVERSITY - MISFORTUNE.

5. 'Tis strange how many unimagin'd charges
Can swarm upon a man, when once the lid
Of the Pandora box of contumely
Is open'd o'er his head.

6. Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like a toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

7. I am not now in fortune's power;
He that is down can sink no lower.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

BUTLER'S Hudibras.

8. Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction;
As oft the cloud that wraps the present hour
Serves but to lighten all our future days.

I will bear it

With all the tender sufferance of a friend,
As calmly as the wounded patient bears
The artist's hand that ministers his cure.

BROWN.

10. Deserted in his utmost need

By those his former bounty fed.

OTWAY'S Orphan.

DRYDEN.

11. Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue; Where patience, honour, sweet humanity, Calm fortitude, take root and strongly flourish.

12. Affliction is the good man's shining scene;
Prosperity conceals his brightest ray;
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

MALLET.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

13. Misfortune does not always wait on vice; Nor is success the constant guest of virtue.

14. I pray thee, deal with men in misery,

Like one who may himself be miserable.

HAVARD.

HEYWOOD.

15. In this wild world the fondest and the best

Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.

16. Aromatic plants bestow

No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But, crush'd or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.

CRABBE.

GOLDSMITH.

17. For every want, that stimulates the breast, Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest.

GOLDSMITH.

18. Each breast, however fortified, By courage, apathy, or pride,

Has still one secret path for thee,
Man's subtle foe-Adversity.

MRS. HOLFORD'S Margaret of Anjou.

19. The good are better made by ill,

As odours crush'd are better still.

ROGERS.

20. The brave unfortunates are our best acquaintance;

They show us virtue may be much distress'd,

And give us their example how to suffer.

21. Though losses and crosses

Be lessons right severe,

There's wit there, ye 'Il

get there,

Ye'll find nae other where.

22. 'T was 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.
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel
He nurs❜d the pinion that impell'd the steel;

FRANCIS.

BURNS.

26

ADVERSITY - MISFORTUNE.

While the same plumage that had warmed his nest,
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
BYRON'S English Bards, &c.

23. I have not quail'd to danger's brow
When high and happy-need I now?

BYRON'S Giaour.

24. Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs on the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so,”

Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who 'stead of saying what you now should do,

Own they foresaw that you would fall at last;
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst “bonos mores,”
With a long memorandum of old stories.

25. The rugged metal of the mine

BYRON'S Don Juan.

Must burn before its surface shine;
But, plung'd within the furnace flame,
It bends and melts-tho' still the same.

BYRON'S Giaour.

26. What is the worst of woes that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deepest on the brow?
To view each loved one blighted from life's page,
And be alone on earth-as I am now.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

27. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy,

Have I not seen what human things could do?

From the loud roar of foaming calumny,
To the small whisper of the as paltry few
And subtle venom of the reptile crew?

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

28. A hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, tho' thousand pilgrims fill the way:
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine.

BYRON.

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