Violet; or, The danseuse [by M.D. Malet].

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Stran 65 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes : Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm : Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Stran 169 - Woe waits the insect and the maid; A life of pain, the loss of peace, From infant's play and man's caprice; The lovely toy so fiercely sought, Hath lost its charm by being caught, For every touch that wooed its stay Hath brushed its brightest hues away, Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 'Tis left to fly or fall alone.
Stran 81 - EVEN such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust ; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Stran 149 - I hate inconstancy — I loathe, detest, Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast No permanent foundation can be laid; Love, constant love, has been my constant guest, And yet last night, being at a masquerade, I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, Which gave me some sensation^ like a villain. ccx. But soon Philosophy came to my aid, And whisper'd
Stran 158 - Since, if my plaints serve not to approve The conquest of thy beauty, It comes not from defect of love, But from excess of duty. For, knowing that I sue to serve A saint of such perfection, As all desire, but none deserve, A place in her affection, I rather choose to want relief Than venture the revealing; Where glory recommends the grief, Despair distrusts the healing.
Stran 22 - Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast — but place to die — Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
Stran 81 - Even such is Time, which takes in trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust ; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days : And from which earth, and grave, and dust, The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
Stran 232 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Stran 88 - And venture into love ! The maid that loves, Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, And puts her trust in miracles for safety.
Stran 227 - Fraught with kind wishes, and secured by truth ; The cordial drop heav'n in our cup has thrown, To make the nauseous draught of life go down...

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