Think of eternal things;
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
F. R. PICKERSGILL _E. Evans_ 110
Politian, it doth grieve me
To see thee thus.
A. M. MADOT _E. Evans_ 114
Listen now—listen!—the faintest sound,
And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard!
A lady’s voice!—and sorrow in the tone!
A. M. MADOT _H. Harral_ 120
Weep not! oh, sob not thus!—thy bitter tears
Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage!
BIRKET FOSTER _J. Cooper_ 127
Hist! hush! within the gloom
Of yonder trees methought a figure passed.
F. R. PICKERSGILL _E. Evans_ 132