The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair)
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever!
My native land, good night!
One hates an author that's all author.
Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die.
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
Poetry should only occupy the idle.
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.
Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!
Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
And hold up to the sun my little taper.
I have always laid it down as a maxim -and found it justified by experience -that a man and a woman make far better friendships than can exist between two of the same sex -but then with the condition that they never have made or are to make love to each other.
We of the craft are all crazy.
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them-She was the Universe.
Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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