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Updated: May 12, 2025
Sure, ye can't blame me f'r wantin' to thry him against good 'uns. He ain't awake yet, sor, an' he's too good-nachured. Holy pow'rs! If the b'ye ever cud be injuced to get mad-like, he'd lick his weight in woild-cats so he w'ud." There were times, as you may imagine, when I felt much like Frankenstein in awe of the creature I had created.
But soon, ye sightless pow'rs! your rest is o'er, Solemn and slow, ye rise upon the air, Speak in the shrouds, and bid the sea-boy fear, And the faint-warbled dirge is heard no more! Oh! then I deprecate your awful reign! The loud lament yet bear not on your breath! Bear not the crash of bark far on the main, Bear not the cry of men, who cry in vain, The crew's dread chorus sinking into death!
Drink but a little of its well, And strait you could both write and spell, While such rhyme-giving pow'rs run through it, A quart would make an epic poet," &c. &c. A poem on the miseries of a literary drudge begins thus promisingly: "Think ye how dear the sickly meal is bought, By him who works at verse and trades in thought?" "Forestall the blighted harvest of his brain."
Soul that must languish in endless anguish, Thy life is a little spell, So take thy fill, ere the Pow'rs of Ill Shall drag Thee, Soul, to Hell. The Song of the Loup Garou.
I found myself magnificently lodged; attended with a formal ceremony; and indeed all things were as well as I could imagine, bating a kind opportunity to get a sight of this young beauty: now half a lover grown, I sighed and grew oppressed with thought, and had recourse to groves, to shady walks and fountains, of which the delicate gardens afforded variety, the most resembling nature that ever art produced, and of the most melancholy recesses, fancying there, in some lucky hour, I might encounter what I already so much adored in Idea, which still I formed just as my fancy wished; there, for the first two days I walked and sighed, and told my new-born passion to every gentle wind that played among the boughs; for yet no lady bright appeared beneath them, no visionary nymph the groves afforded; but on the third day, all full of love and stratagem, in the cool of the evening, I passed into a thicket near a little rivulet, that purled and murmured through the glade, and passed into the meads; this pleased and fed my present amorous humour, and down I laid myself on the shady brink, and listened to its melancholy glidings, when from behind me I heard a sound more ravishing, a voice that sung these words: Alas, in vain, you pow'rs above, You gave me youth, you gave me charms, And ev'ry tender sense of love; To destine me to old Phileno's arms.
Intrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above; Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant What their unerring wisdom sees thee want. AS every scheme of life, so every form of writing, has its advantages and inconveniences, though not mingled in the same proportions.
I given ye Vows! be witness, ye just Pow'rs, How far I was from giving any Vows: No, no, Diana, I had none to give. Dia. No Vows to give! What were they which unto the Holy Man Thou didst repeat, when I was made all thine? Bel. The Effects of low Submission, such as Slaves Condemn'd to die, yield to the angry Judge. Dia. Dost thou not love me then? Bel. Love thee!
He fashioned their hearts alike; he considereth all their works... Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy; to deliver their soul from death." Who is it that will doubt The care of Heaven, or think the immortal Pow'rs are slow? Davenaut. When Edwin entered the barn on the morning following his Sunday afternoon visit, he found that Mr.
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