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10. A death-bed 's a detector of the heart:
Here tired dissimulation drops her mask,

Through life's grimace that mistress of the scene;
Here real and apparent are the same.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

11. O death, all eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when 't is man we love.

POPE'S Eloisa.

12. Death, when unmask'd, shows us a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance.

13. The prince, who kept the world in awe, The judge, whose dictate fix'd the law, The rich, the poor, the great, the small,

GOLDSMITH.

Are levell'd: death confounds them all.

GAY's Fables.

14. There shall the yew her sable branches spread,
And mournful cypress rear her fringed head;
From thence shall thyme and myrtle send perfume,
And laurel evergreen o'ershade the tomb.

15.

Leaves have their times to fall,

GAY'S Dione.

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,

And stars to set - but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death!

MRS. HEMANS.

16. Let him who crawls, enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away,
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head ;-
Ours the fresh turf, and not the fev'rish bed;
While, gasp by gasp, he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang-one bound-escapes control.

BYRON'S Corsair.

17. How peaceful and how powerful is the grave!

BYRON.

178

DEATH-GRAVE.

18. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest, when Autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown!

19. And dull the film along his dim eye grew.

BYRON.

BYRON'S Lara.

20. Yes, this was once ambition's airy hall;
The dome of thought-the palace of the soul.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

21. Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

22. At times, both wish'd for and implor'd, At times sought with self-pointed sword, And welcome in no shape.

BYRON'S Mazeppa.

23. What shall he be ere night?—Perchance a thing O'er which the raven flaps his funeral wing!

24. Oh God! it is a fearful thing

To see the human soul take wing!

BYRON'S Corsair.

BYRON'S Prisoner of Chillon.

25. How sweetly could I lay my head
Within the cold grave's silent breast,
Where sorrow's tears no more are shed,
No more the ills of life molest!

26. O, grief beyond all other griefs, when fate
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate,
In the wide world, without that only tie,
For which it wish'd to live, or fear'd to die!

MOORE.

MOORE'S Lalla Rookh.

27. Like one who draws the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

W. C. BRYANT.

28. Yet why should death be link'd with fear? A single breath-a low-drawn sighCan break the ties that bind us here,

And waft the spirit to the sky.

MRS. A. B. Welby.

29. There lay the warrior and the son of song,
And there-in silence till the judgment-day-
The orator, whose all-persuading tongue

Had mov'd the nations with resistless sway.

MRS. NORTON's Dream.

30. Ah! it is sad when one thus link'd departs!

When Death, that mighty sev'rer of true hearts,
Sweeps through the halls so lately loud in mirth,
And leaves pale Sorrow weeping by the hearth!

MRS. NORTON's Dream.

31. Oh! what a shadow o'er the heart is flung, When peals the requiem of the lov'd and young!

W. G. CLARK.

32. Oh, there is a sweetness in beauty's close, Like the perfume scenting the wither'd rose !

33. His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurra,

And the red field was won;

They saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

FITZ-GREEN HALLECK.

34. All at rest now-all dust!-wave flows on wave,
But the sea dries not! What to us the grave?
It brings no real homily; we sigh,

Pause for a while, and murmur, "All must die!"
Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more,
Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore!

The New Timon.

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35. And death is terrible-the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,

Of agony, are his!

FITZ-GREEN HALLECK.

36. Here may we muse at this lone midnight hour,
When thoughts steal on us, softly as the tread
Of ghostly forms, from yew or cypress bower,
Around the gloomy mansions of the dead.

37. In the deep stillness of that dreamless state Of sleep, that knows no waking joys again.

38. And Death himself, that ceaseless dun, Who waits on all, yet waits for none.

W. C. LODGE.

W. C. LODGE.

HON. NICHOLAS BIDDLE.

39. Methinks it were no pain to die
On such an eve, when such a sky
O'ercanopies the west;

To gaze my fill on yon calm deep,
And, like an infant, sink to sleep
On earth, my mother's breast!

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To see the light of beauty wane away,

Know eyes are dimming, bosoms shrivelling, feet
Losing their springs, and limbs their lily roundness;
But it is worse to feel our heart-spring gone,
To lose hope, care not for the coming thing,
And feel all things go to decay with us.

BAILEY'S Festus.

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2. The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose.

An evil soul producing holy witness,

Is like a villain with a smiling face,

A goodly apple, rotten at the core.

3.

To the common people,

How he did seem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy !

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

4. Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Than priests and fanes that lie.

SHAKSPEARE.

5. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile;

And cry content to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheek with artificial tears;

And frame my face to all occasions.

SHAKSPEARE.

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