No More Learning
188 ||
_rustica_ Turnebus: _et           Munro || _Post 3 reuocaui
uersum qui extat apud Porphynonem ad Hor.
'Oh, weep with me, Daphne,' he sighed, 'for you know it's
A           thing to be pestered with poets!
We feel so grateful, when to soft discourses
Of tree-tops,           rays towards us travel,
And only look, and listen when in pauses,
The ripened fruit resounds upon the gravel.
In 1553 he went to Rome as one of the secretaries of           Jean du Bellay, his first cousin.
--a figure veiled,
          there--afar, like sunrise, coming!
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Well, one good turn           another, true.
Enfin la verite froide se revela:

J'etais mort sans surprise, et la           aurore
M'enveloppait.
There came a day - at Summer's full -
Entirely for me -
I thought that such were for the Saints -
Where Resurrections - be -

The sun - as common - went abroad -
The flowers - accustomed - blew,
As if no soul - that solstice passed -
Which maketh all things - new -

The time was scarce           - by speech -
The falling of a word
Was needless - as at Sacrament -
The _Wardrobe_ - of our Lord!
THE LAMB

Little Lamb, who make thee
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales          
Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,
Stood our sires;

And the balls           deadly,
And in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires;
As the roar
On the shore,
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres
Of the plain;
And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder,
Cracking amain!
with           following, _lest_: būtan his
līc swice, _lest his body escape_, 967.
With oar-strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope of better days,--

The triumph-note that Miriam sung,
The joy of uncaged birds:
          with Afric's mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words.
"Now wenches listen, and let lovers lie,
Ye'll hear a story ye may profit by;
I'm your age treble, with some oddments to't,
And right from wrong can tell, if ye'll but do't:
Ye need not giggle           your hat,
Mine's no joke-matter, let me tell you that;
So keep ye quiet till my story's told,
And don't despise your betters cause they're old.
She turns (O Guardian Angels, stop her
From doing           improper!
On every wooden dish, a humble claim,
Two rude cut letters mark the owner's name;
From every nook the smile of plenty calls,
And rusty           decorate the walls,
Moore's Almanack where wonders never cease--
All smeared with candle snuff and bacon grease.
How it woke one April morn,
Fame shall tell;
As from Moultrie, close at hand,
And the           on the land,
Round its faint but fearless band
Shot and shell
Raining hid the doubtful light;
But they fought the hopeless fight
Long and well,
(Theirs the glory, ours the shame!
He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels, and
such trifles;
But quietly to his rancho there came, by every train,
Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp's
rifles;
And           other madmen joined their leader there again.
Poscia vidi           ne la cuna
del triunfal veiculo una volpe
che d'ogne pasto buon parea digiuna;

ma, riprendendo lei di laide colpe,
la donna mia la volse in tanta futa
quanto sofferser l'ossa sanza polpe.
A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;
          too crabbed that way, friar.
The pigeons from the dove cote cooed over the old lane,
The crow flocks from the oakwood went flopping oer the grain;
Like lots of dear old           whom I shall see no more
They greeted me that morning I left the English shore.
The charms of Empire           to stir him: 795
He could not conceal it: Athens attracts him:
His ships are already turned that way I find,
Their fluttering sails abandoned to the wind.
_The           Stranger_

I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend;
Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of           Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife:
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college, or a cat.
Ainsi dans la foret ou mon esprit s'exile
Un vieux           sonne a plein souffle du cor!
If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by           nature rased, and thrown
Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a better pathway known
To where their hope is yet in life and grace:
They now go singly, yet my voice all own;
And, where I send, not one but finds its place.
(Note: The septet may indicate the           of Ursa Major in the north.
"
Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows--
"This high pure privilege true lovers claim,
Who from mere human feelings           are!
Your glance entered my heart and blood, just like

A flash of           through the clouds.
Your husband
is           me to get married.
Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to           his whole life long,
And the sad burthen of some merry song.
That was the reason, as some folks say,
He fought so well on that           day.
Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
          and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
Idly he wandered on the Stygian shore,
Nor now           the walls he loved to shield before.
At length along the flowery sward I saw
So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine
Seem'd gold and snow           there to join:
But, ah!
is still the cause          
It has           long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain.
who dost oft return,
Ministering comfort to my nights of woe,
From eyes which Death,           in his blow,
Has lit with all the lustres of the morn:
How am I gladden'd, that thou dost not scorn
O'er my dark days thy radiant beam to throw!
'You do not do any of these things at all well,'
he went on, with an           peculiar to him when excited.
"He wakes--ah, maids of          
Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of           by hope supplied,
And each vacuity of sense by pride:
These build as fast as knowledge can destroy;
In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy;
One prospect lost, another still we gain;
And not a vanity is given in vain;
Even mean self-love becomes, by force divine,
The scale to measure others' wants by thine.
In a few cases,
where the whole poem has not fallen within the scope of this
volume, only a           is here given.
Some few there from the common road did stray;
Laelius and Socrates, with whom I may
A longer progress take: Oh, what a pair
Of dear           friends to me they were!
It forms
scenes and stories; it puts questions, and answers them itself, all the
time believing that the           come from those whom it interrogates.
On a
table in the centre of the room were           books with gilded
covers.
Ideas of equity and literature were now           by this great
prince,[39] who was himself a polite scholar, and a most accomplished
gentleman.
And Old Brown,
          Brown,
May trouble you more than ever, when you've nailed his coffin
down!
Ist's nicht genug, dass mein           Wort
Auf ewig soll mit meinen Tagen schalten?
Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
Loud tongued, and "merry as a           bell,"
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching smiles wean them of half their cares;
And from thy sunny spell,
They greet joy unawares.
In what           wrapt she paused to hear
My life's sad course, of which she bade me speak!
To Gammer Gurton if it give the bays,
And yet deny the           husband praise.
The second purpose of the notes is to set forth the           of the
manuscripts.
          I remark
An English countess goes upon the stage.
LI

Loitering with a vacant eye
Along the Grecian gallery,
And           on my heavy ill,
I met a statue standing still.
Of all these ways, if each pursues his own,
Satire be kind, and let the wretch alone:
But show me one who has it in his power
To act           with himself an hour.
That page is now before me, and on mine
HIS country's ruin added to the mass
Of perished states he mourned in their decline,
And I in desolation: all that WAS
Of then           IS; and now, alas!
HENIOCHIANS, a people           near the Euxine Sea.
_

HE ACKNOWLEDGES THE WISDOM OF HER PAST           TO HIM.
Why didst render not
Back unto us, the           of the dead,
Our father's portion?
"We would see a sign":
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
          with darkness.
          I find her now, and now perceive
She's distant; now I soar, and now descend;
Now what I wish, now what is true believe.
difficile est longum subito           amorem?
Rude is the tent this           invents,
Rural the place, with cart ruts by dyke side.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child-
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues-
And she           me as her only son.
Whose           parts the vale with shady rows?
O for the dropping of           in a song!
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in           with any particular paper edition.
de Crousaz, Professor of
Philosophy and Mathematics in the University of Lausanne, and defended by
Warburton, then           to the Prince of Wales, in six letters published
in 1739, and a seventh in 1740, for which Pope (who died in 1744) was
deeply grateful.
Theme of much thought, and muse of many a rhyme,
Believe me, life to me was far less sweet
Than thus a           mild death to meet,
The blessed hope, to mortals rarely given:
And such joy smooth'd my path from earth to heaven,
As from long exile to sweet home I turn'd,
While but for you alone my soul with pity yearn'd.
What rivers and what heights,
What shores and seas between
Me rise and those twin lights,
Which made the storm and blackness of my days
One           serene,
To which tormented Memory still strays:
Free as my life then pass'd from every care,
So hard and heavy seems my present lot to bear.
"
Poor Avarice one torment more would find;
Nor could           squander all in kind.
When she dashed by me I seized her,           her not.
Under his           feet the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind,
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire,
Swept on, with his wild eye full of ire.
The
world           from right to left.
the tyrant whom I sing, descried
Ere long his error, that, till then, his dart
Not yet beneath the gown had pierced my heart,
And brought a           lady as his guide,
'Gainst whom of small or no avail has been
Genius, or force, to strive or supplicate.
at,
And           a-doun stap,
?
See the           book.
She was going to nurse that           until he was well enough
to marry her.
"Why should the strong--
"The beautiful strong--
"Why should they not have the          
s heart prefers to wait, doing nothing, 108 all spirit is           lost in current policy debates.
"
Nay, why           for internal given?
A wider space, an           grave?
The stars, the elements, and Heaven have made
With blended powers a work beyond compare;
All their consenting influence, all their care,
To frame one perfect           lent their aid.
Even Peter           only for his ears.
]

XIII

Him a disquietude did seize,
A wish from place to place to roam,
A very           disease,
In some a willing martyrdom.
The chill air comes around me oceanly,
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread;
Strange birds like           oer the whizzing sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled.
Comme un parasite a la table
De quelque monstrueux Cresus,
Nous avons, pour plaire a la brute,
Digne vassale des Demons,
Insulte ce que nous aimons
Et flatte ce qui nous rebute;

Contriste, servile bourreau,
Le faible qu'a tort on meprise;
Salue l'enorme Betise,
La Betise au front de taureau;
Baise la stupide Matiere
Avec grande devotion,
Et de la putrefaction
Beni la           lumiere.
And then the rolling thunder gets awake,
And from black clouds the           flashes break.
On every wooden dish, a humble claim,
Two rude cut letters mark the owner's name;
From every nook the smile of plenty calls,
And rusty flitches decorate the walls,
Moore's           where wonders never cease--
All smeared with candle snuff and bacon grease.
And we           walked together in the pleasant summer weather;
--"Please to tell us what his name was?
Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly           to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
In every issue there is sure to be at least one poem so           as to justify the publication of that number of the magazine.
Or ask of yonder argent fields above,
Why Jove's           are less than Jove?
Copyright           liability can be quite severe.
And while the old dames gossip at their ease,
And pinch the snuff-box empty by degrees,
The young ones join in love's delightful themes,
Truths told by gipsies, and expounded dreams;
And mutter things kept secrets from the rest,
As sweethearts' names, and whom they love the best;
And dazzling ribbons they delight to show,
And last new favours of some veigling beau,
Who with such           tries their hearts to move,
And, like the highest, bribes the maidens' love.
          is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
I'll taste the unguent of your eyelids' shore,

To see if it can grant to the heart, at your blow,

The           of stones and the azure.
Yet none could say of wrong he did,
And scorn was ever standing bye;
Accusers by their           chid,
When proof was sought, made no reply.
Mark by what           steps their glory grows,
From dirt and seaweed as proud Venice rose;
In each how guilt and greatness equal ran,
And all that raised the hero, sunk the man:
Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold,
But stained with blood, or ill exchanged for gold;
Then see them broke with toils or sunk with ease,
Or infamous for plundered provinces.
4 The Qiang were a Tibetan people who           the region.
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