New-eyed, the men and maids saw, manifest,
The thoughts untold in one another’s breast:
Each wish displayed, and every passion learned
A look revealed them as a look discerned.
But sating Time with clouds o’ercast their eyes;
Desire was hidden, and the lips framed lies.
A goddess then, emerging from the dust,
Fair Virtue rose, the daughter of Distrust.
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See, Lord, fanatics all arrayed
To foil their villainous crusadeUnsheathe again the sacred bladeOf persecution.What though through long disuse ‘t is grownA trifle rusty?‘Gainst modern heresy, whose boneIs rotten, and the flesh fly-blown,It still is trusty.Of sterner stuff thine ancient foes,Unapprehensive,Sprang forth to meet thy biting blows;Our zealots chiefly to the noseAssume the offensive.Then wield the blade their necks to…
Nightly I put up this humble petition:
My sins of commission, my sins of omission,My sins of the Mission Dolores.’
‘I never yet exactly could determine
Is kept so safely from predacious vermin.’‘It is not so, my friend: though in a garret‘Tis kept in camphor, and you often air it,The vermin will get into it and wear it.’
Listen to his wild romances:
Each expounded as his ‘view’Gu.In his brain’s opacous clot, ahHe has got a maggot! What aMan with ‘views’ to overwhelm us!Gulielmus.Hear his demagogic clamorHear him stammer in his grammar!Teaching, he will learn to spellGulielmus L.Slave who paid the price demandedWith two-handed iron brandedBy the boss-pray cease to dose us,Gulielmus L. Jocosus.
I dreamed I stood upon a hill, and, lo!
Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitly clad,With pious mien, appropriately sad,While all the church bells made a solemn din —A fire-alarm to those who lived in sin.Then saw I gazing thoughtfully below,With tranquil face, upon that holy showA tall, spare figure in a robe of white,Whose eyes diffused a melancholy light.‘God keep you, stranger,’ I exclaimed….
I muse upon the distant town
Above my head the sunbeams crownThe graveyard’s giant rood.The lupin blooms among the tombs.The quail recalls her brood.Ah, good it is to sit and traceThe shadow of the cross;It moves so still from place to placeO’er marble, bronze and moss;With graves to mark upon its arcOur time’s eternal loss.And sweet it is to watch the…