The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-02-28
A POLITICAL ALPHABET.
The A b Cs of More Than score of Poe

A POLITICAL ALPHABET.
The ABB Cs of More Than a score of Poets
All! well! for us all some sweet hope lies
j. G. Whittier.
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags. o, sea!
But the tender grace of day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
-Tennyson.
Cherry ripe, ripe, cry,
Full and fair ones-come and buy;
If SO be you ask me where
They grow answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile,
There's the land, or cherry isle.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And will pledge with mine;
Or leave kiss within the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
Ben JonSon.
Fen such is time: which takes on trust
Our youth, our joys our all we have,
And pass us but with earth and dust.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Farewell, life my senses swim,
And the world is growing dim.
ThrOnging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night.
Colder, colder, colder still.
Upward steals vapor chill.
Strong the earthly odor grows,
l smell the mold above the rose. - -,
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons; do not cry,
And will sing lullaby:
i'00A '"ei"' iO0A '-''i'' Thomas Decker.
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast;
He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who lOveth us,
He made and loveth all.
cannot make him dead:
His fair, sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears | turn to him,
The vision Yanishes-he is not there!
John Pierpont.
Jennie kissd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in
Time you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list. put that in.
Say I'm weary, say m sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old. but add
Jennie kiss d me.
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sat where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hands so yellow
And poured out his coal black wine:
Hurrah! for coal-black wine
Barry CornoUGU.
Life glides away, Lorenzo! like brook;
For ever changing, unperceived the change
In the same brook none ever bathed him
To the same life none ever twice awoke.
We call the brook the same; the same we
think
Our life though still more rapid in its flow.
Young.
NV days are in the yellow leaf
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
'''O Byron.
Nothing resting in its own completeness
Can have worth or beauty: but alone,
Because it leads and tends to further sweet
ness,
Fuller higher, deeper than its own.
Life is only bright when it proceedeth
Towards truer, deeper life above.
"A. Proctor.
o. why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a fast fitting meteor a fast flying cloud
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
-Witttdm hnOG.
Perhaps ia this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant WI N celestial hre:
Hands that the rod of empire might have
swayed,
Thomas Gray.
Quoth l, Here's Christmas once again,
And l no farthing ricber!'
Time answered, All, the old old strain!
Why measure ali your good in gold?
No rope of sand is weaker.
It's hard to get tbs hard to hold;
-Ma~k Lemon.
Remorseless Time. Fierce spirit of the glass
and scythe. what power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
g. D. Prentice.
Sad is our youth for it is going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life for onward it is flowing
In current unperceived, because SO fleet.
AUBREY De We're.
Thou unreenting Past!
Strong are the barriers around thy dark do
main,
And letters sure and fast
Hold all that enter thy unbreating reign.
W C. Bryant
Unfortunate man that ami
I've never a client but grief;
The case is. I've case at all;
And in brief, I've ne er had brief.
-SdTe
Vital spark of heavenly fame,
Quit, oh quit. this mortal frame!
Cease fond Nature. cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life
Pope
Which wish to remark
And my language is plain
That for ways that dark,
And for tricks that vain,
The heather Chinee is peculiar.
Which the same | would rise to explain.
Bret Hdrte.
Xcellent wretch perdition catch my soul.
But do love thee.
Shakespeare
Yet who plucks me? No one mourns-
have lived my season out
And now die of my own thorns
Which could not live without.
Sweet, be merry! how the light
Comes and goes! If it be night,
''p ''i' '''''>'''' NY 9 @E. B. Browning
Zeal and obedience be still your grace.
Shakespeare