Essay 10

“Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po.”

“While Heav'n's chancel-vault is blind with sleet,”

“The man whose eye is ever on himself,Doth look on one, the least of nature's works;One who might move the wise man to that scornWhich wisdom holds unlawful ever”—

“To see the children sporting on the shore,And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.”

—“Whose top to climbIs certain falling, or so slippery, thatThe fear’s as bad as falling.”

“Some Demon whisper’d, L———, have a taste!”

—“With what a waving air she goesAlong the corridor! How like a fawn!Yet statelier. Hark! No sound, however soft,Nor gentlest echo telleth when she treads,But every motion of her shape doth seemHallowed by silence”—

"The fly that sips treacleIs lost in the sweets;So he that tastes womanRuin meets.”

“Like life and death in disproportion met.”

“For eitherHe never shall find out fit mate, but suchAs some misfortune brings him or mistake;Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gainThrough her perverseness, but shall see her gain’dBy a far worse; or if she love, withheldBy parents; or his happiest choice too lateShall meet, already link’d and wedlock-boundTo a fell adversary, his hate and shame;Which infinite calamity shall causeTo human life, and household peace confound."

“I have not loved the world, nor the world me;I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bow’dTo its idolatries a patient knee—Nor coin’d my cheek to smiles—nor cried aloudIn worship of an echo; in the crowdThey could not deem me one of such; I stoodAmong them, but not of them; in a shroudOf thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could,Had I not filled my mind which thus itself subdued.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me—But let us part fair foes; I do believe,Though I have found them not, that there may beWords which are things—hopes which will not deceive,And virtues which are merciful nor weaveSnares for the failing: I would also deemO'er others’ griefs that some sincerely grieve;That two, or one, are almost what they seem—That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.”

“A bud bit by an envious worm,Ere he could spread his sweet leaves to the air,Or dedicate his beauty to the sun”—

“A huge-sized monster of ingratitudes.”