20. Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne, And hands obey—our hearts are still our own. 22. The insate mind, but from without supplied, If sustenance more spiritual be denied, 23. The mind of man is ne'er at rest,Whether the body sleeps or wakes, SIR E. BRYDGES. To heaven, earth, hell - North, South, East, West- J. T. WATSON. MIRTH. (See CHEERFULNESS.) MISANTHROPY. 1. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind! 2. There's not a day but, to the man of thought, Betrays some secret that throws new reproach On life, and makes him sick of seeing more. SHAKSPEARE. YOUNG'S Night Thoughts. 3. Fear'd, shunn'd, belied, ere youth had lost her force, And thought the voice of wrath a sacred calf, BYRON'S Corsair. 406 MISER-MISERY-SORROW. 4. I have not lov'd the world, nor the world me; Nor coin'd my cheeks to smiles nor cried aloud BYRON'S Childe Harold. 5. Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven? Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, Because not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey! BYRON'S Childe Harold. 6. We talk of love and pleasure - but 't is all 7. Only this is sure: J. G. PERCIVAL. In this world nought, save misery, can endure. 1. And then will canker sorrow eat her bud, And chase the native beauty from her cheek. 2. For where the greater malady is fix'd, The lesser is scarce felt. SHAKSPEARE. SHAKSPEARE. 3. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions. SHAKSPEARE. 4. It easeth some, tho' none it ever cur'd, To think their sorrows others have endur'd. SHAKSPEARE. 5. Some secret venom preys upon his heart; A stubborn and unconquerable flame Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of life. ROWE. 6. Alas! I have no words to tell my grief; 7. Man is a child of sorrow, and this world DRYDEN. In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us; And he, who meditates on others' woes, Shall in that meditation lose his own. CUMBERLAND's Timocles. 8. Heaven oft in mercy smites, even when the blow Severest is. JOANNA BAILLIE. 9. Though gay companions o'er the bowl 10. And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought. The intersected lines of thought; Those furrows, which the burning share Of sorrow ploughs untimely there : Scars of the lacerated mind, Which the soul's war doth leave behind. BYRON. BYRON'S Parisina. 408 MISERY - SORROW. 11. Joy's recollection is no longer joy, But sorrow's memory is sorrow still! BYRON'S Marino Faliero. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 12. Wrung with the wounds that kill not, but ne'er heal. 13. But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we may bless. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 14. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Or friends by him self-banish'd. 15. BYRON'S Childe Harold. Bow'd and bent, Wax grey and ghastly, withering ere their time. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 16. What deep wound ever heal'd without a scar? > BYRON'S Childe Harold. 17. The furrows of long thought and dried-up tears. BYRON'S Childe Haroll. 18. He felt the chilling heaviness of heart, The loss of love, the treachery of friends, BYRON'S Don Juan. 19. For sorrow o'er each sense held stern command. BYRON'S Don Juan. 20. Wait, till like me, your hopes are blighted — till Sorrow and shame are handmaids of your cabin ; Famine and poverty your guests at table; Despair your bedfellow From sleep, and judge. then rise, but not BYRON. Die soon, than live on lingeringly in pain. BYRON'S Two Foscari. 22. O'er every feature of that still pale face, Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase. 23. My life is not dated by years BYRON'S Corsair. There are moments which act as a plough, And there is not a furrow appears, But is deep in my soul as my brow 24. The quivering flesh, though torture-torn, may live; But souls, once deeply wounded, heal no more. 25. No-pleasures, hopes, affections gone, The wretch may bear, and yet live on; BYRON. ELLIOT. MOORE'S Lalla Rookh. 26. The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 27. A malady COWPER. Preys on my heart, that medicine cannot reach, MATURIN'S Bertram. BAILEY'S Festus. 28. He who has most of heart knows most of sorrow. |