Steyne's grief; or, Losing, seeking and finding, by the author of 'Bow Garretts'.

W. Tweedie, 1860 - 403 ˹
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˹ 185 - All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
˹ 380 - Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! Nay, I have done. You get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
˹ 200 - A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
˹ 393 - Moments there are in life alas, how few ! When casting cold prudential doubts aside, We take a generous impulse for our guide, * And following promptly what the heart thinks best, Commit to Providence the rest ; Sure that no after-reckoning will arise Of shame or sorrow, for the heart is wise.
˹ 259 - Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream : Oh ! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream.
˹ 27 - CHILDHOOD ! happiest stage of life ! Free from care, and free from strife, Free from memory's ruthless reign, Fraught with scenes of former pain ; Free from fancy's cruel skill, Fabricating future ill ; Time when all that meets the view, All can charm, for all is new ; How thy long-lost hours I mourn, Never, never to return ! Then to toss the circling ball, Caught rebounding from the wall ; Then the mimic ship to guide Down the kennel's dirty tide ; Then the hoop's revolving pace Through the dirty...
˹ 93 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies ? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
˹ 99 - And widows' tears, and orphans' moans ; And all that Misery's hand bestows, To fill the catalogue of human woes.
˹ 153 - The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring, And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king.
˹ 40 - Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home. There is a magic in that little word : It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit.