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100. I saw young Harry with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury; And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 101. True happiness hath no localities, No tones provincial, no peculiar garb. Where duty goes, she goes; with justice goes; And goes with meekness, charity, and love, Where'er a tear is dried; a wounded heart Bound up; a bruised spirit with the dew Of sympathy anointed; or a pang Of honest suffering soothed; or injury Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven; Where'er an evil passion is subdued, Or virtue's feeble embers found; where'er A sin is heartily abjured and leftThere is a high and holy place, a spot Of sacred light, a most religious fane, Where happiness, descending, sits and smiles.
102. A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watch'd the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below. Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow! Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul ! To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of merey made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.
103. Who first beholds the Alps-that mighty chain Of mountains stretching on from east to west,
So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal,
As to belong rather to heaven than earth,
A sense, a feeling that he loses not,
A something that informs him 'tis a moment Whence he may date henceforward and for ever? 104. Now gentle gales,
Fanning their odorif'rous wings dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Of Araby the bless'd: with such delay
Well pleased, they slack their course, and many a league,
You cannot rob me of free nature's grace,
106. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
107. The sounds and seas, each creek and bay, With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals
Of fish that, with their fins and shining scales,
Moist nourishment, or under rocks their food
108. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
109. You think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature smarts so little as a fool.
Let peals of laughter, Codrus, round thee break,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.
The creature's at his dirty work again,
Proud of the vast extent of flimsy lines!
110. For neither man nor angel can discern Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks
Invisible, except to God alone,
By his permissive will, through heaven and earth;
Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill
111. How poor! how rich! how abject! how august! How complicate! how wonderful is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such !
Who centred in our make such strange extremes !—
A worm! a god! I tremble at myself;
112. The raven himself is hoarse,
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
113. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss: to give it then a tongue,
Is wise in man.
As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours:
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
How much is to be done! My hopes and fears
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
Thou wouldst be great;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,
What thou wouldst highly,
115. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
116. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,