290 8. 9. FRIENDSHIP. Hope not to find YOUNG'S Night Thoughts. The friendships of the world are oft ADDISON'S Cato. 10. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! - 11. And what is friendship but a name, BLAIR'S Grave. GOLDSMITH'S Hermit. 12. Friendship is not a plant of hasty growth; 13. Thou art the friend, JOANNA BAILLIE. To whom the shadows of long years extend. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 14. Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though woman, thou didst not forsake, BYRON. 15. He, who, malignant, tears an absent friend, FRANCIS' Horace. 16. A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one warmth, with one resentment glows; My friend must hate the man who injures me. 17. How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is a friend, 18. Oh, friendship! thou balm and sweet'ner of life! 19. When our lives MRS. MARGARET SMITH. Were link'd in one, and our young hearts bloom'd out, 20. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like.quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers B. B. THATCHER. H. W. LONGFellow. 21. Yes, the summer of life passes quickly away, Soon the winter of age sheds its snow on the heart; But the warm sun of Friendship, that gilded youth's day, Shall still thro' the dark clouds a soft ray impart. A. GIBBS. 292 FRUITS-FUNERAL, &c. 22. Sweet lady, wilt thou think of me When Friendship's flowers are round thee wreathing, Within thy ear is softly breathing? MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. 23. In after years,-when thou, perchance, Along these pages, should thine eyes FRUITS. (See FLOWERS.) J. T. WATSON. FUNERAL-MOURNING 1. Do not for ever, with thy veiled lids, Seek for thy noble father in the dust; WIDOW. Thou know'st 't is common; all that live, must die, SHAKSPEARE. 2. Why is the hearse with 'scutcheons blazon'd round, GAY'S Trivia. BARON. 7. They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness. The fools, who flock'd to swell or see the show, BYRON'S Vision of Judgment. 5. Groans and convulsions, and discolour'd faces, 6. Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man NAT. LEE. BLAIR'S Grave. 7. Thus, day by day, and month by month, we pass'd; It pleas'd the Lord to take my spouse at last. I tore my gown, I soil'd my locks with dust, And beat my breasts-as wretched widows must: To hide the flood of tears I didnot shed. POPE. 8. What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year? And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show! 9. Death's seneschal! 't is thine to trace For each his proper look and place; How aunts should weep, where uncles stand. POPE. HON. N. BIDDLE's Ole to Bogle. 10. See him erect, with lofty tread, The dark scarf streaming from his head, The very Chesterfield of woe! HON. N. BIDDLE's Ode to Bogle. 11. Let widows, anxious to fulfil (For the first time) the dear man's will, Lovers and lawyers ill at ease, For bliss deferr'd, or loss of fees, The Bogle heeds not: firm and true, And every hat has got its band. HON. N. BIDDLE's Ode to Bogle. 12. Ere death had quite stricken the bloom from her cheek, J. H. BRIGHT. 13. Nature doth mourn for thee. There is no need MRS. L. H. SIGourney. FUTURITY. - (See ETERNITY.) |