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Updated: May 5, 2025
Be thou a Spirit of Health, or Goblin damn'd; Bring with thee Airs from Heav'n, or Blasts from Hell; Be thy Events wicked or charitable; Thou com'st in such a questionable Shape That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane: Oh! Oh! Answer me, Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell Why thy canoniz'd Bones, hearsed in Death, Have burst their Cearments?
Oh! why did God, Creator wise! that peopled highest heav'n With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature? and not fill the world at once With men, as angels, without feminine? Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
"I did my best for you," said Nora. "Yer bhest. A poor bhest when I've had to go. But now, Miss Nora, I aint waylaid you for nothin'. The masther has escaped this time, and you has escaped; but as shure as there is a God in heav'n, if you don't get Squire to consint to let me go back, there'll be mischief. There now, Miss Nora, I've spoken.
Angels, who had watched my birth, Heard me sigh to sing to earth; 'Twas transgression ne'er forgiv'n To forget my native Heav'n; So they sternly bade me go Banish'd to the world below. Exil'd here, I knew no fears; For, though darkness round me clung, Though none heard me in the spheres, Earth had listeners while I sung.
IX. SIN harden can the heart against its God, Make it abuse his grace, despise his rod, 'Twill make one run upon the very pikes, Judgments foreseen bring such to no dislikes Of sinful hazards; no, they venture shall For one base lust, their soul, and heav'n and all. Take heed then, hold it, crush it at the door, It comes to rob thee, and to make thee poor.
In gentle Windings where this River glides, And Herbage thick its Current almost hides, Where sweet Meanders lead his pleasant Course, Where Trees and Plants and Fruits themselves disclose, Where never-fading Groves of fragrant Fir And beauteous Pine perfume the ambient Air, The air, at once, both Health and Fragrance yields, Like sweet Arabian or Elysian Fields Thou Royal Settlement! he washes Thee, Thou Village, blest of Heav'n and dear to me: Nam'd from a pious Sov'reign, now at Rest, The last of Stuart's Line, of Queens the best.
'When tow'rds the orient heav'n my gaze I bend, The western sun shines warm upon my back; Whilst, when I turn me to the beauteous west, The golden glory strikes upon mine eyeballs. Oh, sacred land! where nature thus displays Such mighty marvels to the sight of men, All adoration, quite compact of love.
Heav'n will in sad procession walk the round, And level all thy buildings with the ground. And from the soil enrich'd with human blood, Shall grass spring up, where palaces have stood, Where beasts shall seed; and a revenge obtain For all the thousands at thy altars slain.
" behold what glorious shape Comes this way moving: seems another morn, Risen on mid-noon; some great behest from Heav'n." The imagination cannot form such an union of grace and strength. During my stay in Paris, I frequently visited this distinguished statue, and discovered fresh subjects of amazement, and admiration as often as I gazed upon it.
Thus was it with my heart in those blest days of innocence; thus it was won and lost; nor can all my stars in heav'n prevent, I doubt, prevent my ruin.
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