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Updated: May 5, 2025
Come, dearest, come! tho' all in vain; Once more beside you summer main We'll plight our hopeless vows again Unclose thine eyes. My bark amidst the surge is toss'd, I go, by evil fortunes cross'd, My earthly hopes for ever lost Love's dearest prize. But when thy hand is clasp'd in mine, I'll laugh at fortune, nor repine; In life, in death, for ever thine Then check these sighs.
'Forbid it heaven! the hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see, Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restor'd to love and thee. 'Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev'ry care resign: And shall we never, never part, My life, my all that's mine.
As I sit here writing to you, M., I wish you could see the whole scene. This young man lies within reach of me, flat on his back, his hands clasp'd across his breast, his thick black hair cut close; he is dozing, breathing hard, every breath a spasm it looks so cruel. He is a noble youngster, I consider him past all hope. Often there is no one with him for a long while.
It might not be. The treach'rous, working sand Already clutched their feet, and check'd their speed; And dancing, sparkling, like a joyful thing, A glitt'ring, glassy wall of foam-fleck'd wave Towards them glided with that fatal speed You cannot mark because it is so swift. No use to struggle now: no time to fly! He clasp'd her to him: "God hath will'd it thus. Courage, my sister!"
Not only does it bring us what is clasp'd within its covers; nay, that is the least of what it brings.
And far from the dreary tomb Speed the wings of the rosy Hours Sweet is for thee the bowl, Sweet are thy looks, my love; I fly to thy tender soul, As bird to its mated dove! Take me, ah, take! Clasp'd to thy guardian breast, Soft let me sink to rest: But wake me ah, wake!
Poor Hamet clasp'd him to his grateful heart; Then, rous'd his camels for the dusty strife, And, with the shepherd, hasten'd to depart. And now, aurora breathes her fresh'ning gale, And faintly trembles on the eastern cloud; And now, the sun, from under twilight's veil, Looks gaily forth, and melts her airy shroud.
Adieu! adieu! when quivering lips refuse The bitter pangs of parting to declare; And the full bosom feels that it must lose Friends who were wont its inmost thoughts to share; When hands are tightly clasp'd, 'mid struggling sighs And streaming tears, those whisper'd accents rise, Leaving to God the objects of our care In that short, simple, comprehensive prayer ADIEU!
He has his cap on, and in it are stuck a red and white rose, and on the brim of it is a shield with a red cross on it, and a sort of seal pendant. About his neck he wears a black string with a cross hanging before him, and his left thumb is stuck in a broad leathern girdle clasp'd about him. Over his head is written Henry Pattison, servant of Thomas More.
The same evidence will arise also from accidents, as in the following examples: ... me horror chills, Shudd'ring, and fear congeals my curdling blood. ... to their bosoms press'd, The frighted mothers clasp'd their crying babes. This perfection, the greatest, in my opinion, a discourse can have, is very easily acquired by only considering and following nature.
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