OBITUARY.

Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show
A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd,
And they, who watch'd her nearest, could not know
The very instant, till the change that cast

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,

Glared-o'er her eyes.

BYRON'S Don Juan

They fell devoted, but undying:
The very gale their name seem'd sighing.
Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain;
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever!

429

BYRON'S Siege of Corinth.

Brief, brave, and glorious, was his young career.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

We tell thy doom without a sigh,

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's;
One of the few, th' immortal names,

Yet, shrin'd with many a sweet, sad thought,

That lov'd one's memory lingers still;

For O! she left a void that nought
But mournful thoughts can fill!

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY

430

OBLIVION-OBSTINACY, &o.

Pity for thee shall weep her fountains dry,
Mercy for thee shall bankrupt all her store;
Valour shall pluck a garland from on high,
And Honour twine the wreath thy temples o'er.

As the bird to its sheltering nest,

When the storm on the hills is abroad,

ISAAC CLASON

So her spirit hath flown from this world of unrest,
To repose on the bosom of God.

W. H. BURLEIGH

But lately his cheek with life's crimson was flush'd,
His voice was cheerful, health sat on his brow;
That cheek is now pallid, that voice now hush'd—
He sleeps with the bones of his ancestors now!
J. T. WATSON

OBLIVION.-(See FORGETFULNESS.)

OBSTINACY-STUBBORNNESS.

The slave of arrogance and pride,
He has no hearing on the prudent side;
His still refuted quirks he still repeats,
New-rais'd objections with new quibbles meets
Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends,
He dies, disputing, and the contest ends.

Let them pull all about mine ears; present me
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels;
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian,
That the precipitation might down-stretch
Below the beam of sight — yet still will I
Be thus to them.

COWPER.

SHAKSPEARE.

You may as well go stand upon a beacn,
And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb:
You may as well bid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise,
When they are fretted with the gus:s of heaven;
You may as well do any thing most hard,

As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) —
His Jewish heart.

Ocean! thou dreadful and tumultuous home
Of dangers, at eternal war with man,
Wide opening and loud roaring still for more!
Too faithful mirror! how dost thou reflect
The melancholy face of human life!

YOUNG'S Night i'houghts.

Roll on, thou dark and deep blue Ocean - roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin his control
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deeds, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown!

BYRON'S Childe Harold

Once more upon the waters! yet once more,
And the waves bound beneath me, as a steed
That knows his rider!

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our homes as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam.
Behold our empire and survey our home!

BYRON S Corsair

Oh! who can tell, save he whose heart hain treu,
́And danc'd in triumph o'er the waters wide,

The exulting sense the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of the trackless way!

It runneth the earth's wide region round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

BARRY CORNWALL (PROCTOR).

Thou boundless, shining, glorious sea!
With ecstasy I gaze on thee;
And, as I gaze, thy billowy roll
Wakes the deep feelings of my soul!

From the German

433

OFFENCE.

Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste.

I. too, have been upon thy rolling breast,
Wildest of waters! I have seen thee lie
Calm, as an infant pillow'd in its rest

W. C. BRYANT

On a fond mother's bosom, when the sky,
Not smoother, gave the deep its azure dye,
Till a new heaven was arch'd and glass'd below.

Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?

What lawful 'quest have given this verdict up
Unto the frowning judge?

If my offence be of such mortal kind,

That neither service past, nor present sorrows,

Nor purpos'd merit in futurity,

Can ransom me into his love again,

But to know so much be my benefit;

So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content,

And shut myself up in some other course
To fortune's alms.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.