FATE.- (See DESTINY.) FATHER- MOTHER - PARENTS. 1. Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 2. Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. The poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, SHAKSPEARE. The young ones in her nest, against the owl. SHAKSPEARE. 3. Fathers their children and themselves abuse, SHIRLEY. 4. But parents, to their offspring blind, Consult not parts, nor turn of mind; GAY's Fables. 5. For if there be a human tear From passion's dross refin'd and clear, 'Tis that which pious parents shed Upon a duteous daughter's head. 6. To aid thy mind's development to watch And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,- Scorr. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 266 FATHER - MOTHER, &c. 7. My mother! at that holy name Within my bosom there's a gush 8. My heart grew softer as I gazed upon GEORGE P. MORRIS. That youthful mother, as she sooth'd to rest, For 't is a sight that angel ones above May stoop to gaze on from their bowers of bliss, When Innocence upon the breast of Love Is cradled, in a sinful world like this. MRS. A. B. WELBY. 9. Ere yet her child hath drawn its earliest breath, Is tender, though the man be made of stone. 11. Of sighs that speak a father's woe, Of pangs that none but mothers know. CHARLES SPRAGUE. 12. Sweet is the image of the brooding dove!- MRS. NORTON'S Dream. 13. There are smiles and tears in the mothers eyes, HENRY WARE. FAVOUR. 1. There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, Never to hope again. 2. O momentary grace of mortal man, SHAKSPEARE. Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! SHAKSPEARE. 3. 'T is ever thus when favours are denied; 4. No trifle is so small as what obtains, JOANNA BAILLIE. Save that which loses favour: 'tis a breath HANNAH MORE. 1. Our sensibilities are so acute, The fear of being silent makes us mute. COWPER. 2. Yet what is wit, and what the poet's art? HANNAH MORE. 3. The soul of music slumbers in the shell, ROGERS' Human Life. 4. Admire-exalt-despise-laugh-weep-for here There is much matter for all feeling. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 5. What we can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 6. Striking th' electric chain wherewith we're darkly bound. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 7. There are some feelings time cannot benumb. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 8. The keenest pangs the wretched find, Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemploy'd. 9. The deepest ice that ever froze Can only o'er the surface close; 10. Oh! life is a waste of wearisome hours, BYRON'S Giaour. BYRON'S Parisina. Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; 11. Dried hastily the teardrop from her cheek, And signified the vow she could not speak. 12. I felt to madness! but my full heart gave No utterance to the ineffable within. MOORE. CAMPBELL. Words were too weak: they were unknown; but still J. G. PERCIVAL. FESTIVITY. - (See DRINKING.) |