Joanna Baillie

But dreams full oft are found of real events the form and shadows.

Men?s actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.

Think?st thou there are no serpents in the world but those who slide along the grassy sod, and sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life do bask their spotted skins in Fortune?s sun, and sting the soul.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm, short as it violent is.

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.

This pure air braces the listless nerves, and warms the blood: I feel in freedom here.

Dreams full oft are found of real events the forms and shadows.

O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?

This will be triumph! This will be happiness! Yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.

From the sad years of life we sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes strike, keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten; which, through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast, shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.

O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou.

Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.

He is so full of pleasant anecdote; so rich, so gay, so poignant in his wit, time vanishes before him as he speaks, and ruddy morning through the lattice peeps ere night seems well begun.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

Tis ever thus when favours are denied; all had been granted but the thing we beg: and still some great unlikely substitute?Your life, your soul, your all of earthly good?Is proffer?d, in the room of one small boon.

He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for other's good, is a poor, frozen churl.

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; whose sluggish minds, e?en in fair honor?s field, still on their dinner turn?Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, and wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base; raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh when morning shines upon it.

Heaven oft in mercy smites, even when the blow severest is.

Stand there, damn?d meddling villain, and be silent; for if thou utt?rest but a single word, a cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I?ll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, to bellow with the damn?d!

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul; yea, put a bridle in the lion?s mouth, and lead him forth as a domestic cur, these are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.

Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.

Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up of such small parts as these, and men look back worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.

To struggle when hope is banished! To live when life's salt is gone! To dwell in a dream that's vanished! To endure, and go calmly on! The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

I am as one who doth attempt some lofty mountain?s height, and having gained what to the upcast eye the summit?s point appear?d, astonish?d sees its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, towering aloft, as distant as before.