Fayette County herald. [volume] (Washington [Washington Court House], Fayette County, O. [Ohio]) 1860-1???, 1880-02-19
A POETICAL ALPHABET.

The A B Cs of More Than n score OF Focus
All! we'll! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes. r,,,.,,,
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy Crags, o, sea
But the tender grace OF day that Is dead
va 0''''O -Tsnay8on.
Cherry ripe, ripe, / cry,
Full and fair Ones-COme and buyi
If 80 be you ask me where
They grow. l aneWer, there,
Where my Julias 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 Ill not look for wine. p,, r...o,,
F'en such is time: which takes on trust
Our YOUTH our joys, our all we have,
And pass us but with earth i1l5 anq az ausG. 81, ob
Sir Waiter Ratetgb'
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 a VapOr chill.
Strong the earthly odor grows,
smell the mold above the rose =, n,
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise,
Sleep, pretty Wantons; do not cry,
And will sing lullaby:
Thomas Decker.
He prayeth we'll, 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 cnan;
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears, turn to him,
John Pierp0nt.
Jennie kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat IN
Time, YOU thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that ln'
Say I'm weary, say I'm sadi
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 Cornwall.
Life gides away, Lorenzo! like. brook;
For ever changing, unperceived the change;
In the same brook none ever bathed MIN
twice;
To the same life none ever twice awoke.
We call the brook the samei the same we
Our life, though still more rapid in it's flow.
Young.
My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flowers and fruits Of love are gone;
The worm, the canker and the grlef'
Al0 A'''H' ''lO-I'' Byron.
Nothing resting in its own completeness
Can have worth or beauty: but alone,
Because it leads and tends to further sweet
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own;
Life is only bright when it prQceedeth
Towards a truer, deeper life above
OF whv should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like 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
-WiLiGm HROC.
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid ,...,e.o.
Some heart once pregnant wi N celestial tre'
Hands that the rod of empire might have
swayed
Or walked to ecstasy the living Tyre. ,, ,no,,
Ouoth I. Here's Christmas once again,
Time answered, All, the old old strain!
prithee pass the pitchers;
Why measure all your good In gold!
No rope of sand is weaker;
TITS hard to get, tbs hard to hold;
Come lad, fill up your beakeT.
RnmOTSeleSS lime! t1erCe SplElb VI OLlO S1tboS
and scythe. what power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
his li0H A''l' w D''' g. D. Prentice.
Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, s,o4.
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life for onward it is flowing
In current unperceived, because 50 4eet'
--AUbrey De Pere.
Thou unrelenting Past
main,
And fetters sure and fast,
Hold all that enter thy unbre9tng reign. .t
Unfortunate man that am
I've never a client but grlet;
The case is, I've no case at aili
And in brief, I've nee had brief. o,
Vital spark of heavenly fame,
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame!
Cease fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me langulsh into life!
Which wish to remark
And my language is plain
That for ways that are dark,
And for tricks that are vain,
The heather Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same would rise to explain.
Xoellent wretchI perdition catch my soul
' 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 gOesl If it be night,
Keep the candles in my sight.
e. B. BrOaUBing
Zeal and obedience be still your grace.
Shakespeare
CONNORo
A Pathetic Irish Story.
~ . ,,,v, 80 po+rioly CoDDors tI,fs al m