« ForrigeFortsæt »
"Tis with our judgments as our watches; none Are just alike, yet each believes his own.
POPE'S Essay on Criticism To observations which ourselves we make, We grow more partial for the observer's sake.
POPE'S Moral Essays.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf,
poor contents him with the care of heaven. POPE'S Moral Essays. The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels, More generous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts; And conscious virtue mitigates the pang.
YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.
In other men we faults can spy,
Self is the medium least refin'd of all,
Through which opinion's searching beams can fall:
For, as his own bright image he survey'd,
How often, in this cold and bitter world,
The feeling heart, simplicity of life,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
To these resistless grace impart,
That look of sweetness, form'd to please,
MISS L. E. LANDON.
With all the wonders of external grace,
ELOQUENCE - ORATOR
ELOQUENCE — ORATOR.
And when she spake
Sweet words, like dropping honey, she did shed;
A silver sound, that heavenly music seem'd to make.
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And aged ears play truant at his tales,
Power above powers! O heavenly eloquence!
Of men's affections,
re than all their swords!
Men are more eloquent than women made,
Dropp'd manna, and could make the worst appear
Oh! speak that again!
Sweet as the syren's tongue those accents fall,
MILTON'S Paradise Lost.
Your words are like the notes of dying swans,
ELOQUENCE - ORATOR.
As I listen'd to thee,
His words of learned length and thundering sound,
Here rills of oily eloquence in soft
-The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
For rhetoric, he could not ope
Were aw'd, and every though silence hung,
Thy words had such a melting flow,
And spoke of truth so sweetly well,
He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource
BYRON'S Don Juan,
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,
His talk is the sweet extract of all speech,
Thus stor'd with intellectual riches,
Oh! as the bee upon the flower, I hang
His words seem'd oracles
That pierc'd their bosoms; and each man would turn
That with the like dumb wonder answer'd him.
Eloquence, that charms and burns,
Now with a giant's might
He heaves the ponderous thought, Now pours the storm of eloquence With scathing lightning fraught.
J. H. CLINCH.
There's a charm in deliv'ry, a magical art,
MRS. A. B. WELBY,