All is lost!
Wifely love, the closer clinging
When men need thee most,
Shall I come, dishonor bringing?
All is lost!
Babe in silken cradle lying,
To low music tossed,
Will they wake thee for my dying?
All is lost!
Yonder where the river grimly
Whitens, like a ghost,
Must I plunge and perish dimly;
All is lost!
INTERESTING MANUSCRIPTS OF EDMUND BURKE.
Macaulay opens his most remarkable article on Milton by saying, "The
dexterous Capuchins never choose to preach on the life and miracles of a
saint, till they have awakened the devotional feelings of their auditors
by exhibiting some relic of him,--a thread of his garment, a lock of his
hair, or a drop of his blood." If we were in the mood, we might take
advantage of interesting manuscripts of Edmund Burke, which are now
before us, to say something of this remarkable character. But we shall
confine ourselves for the present to a passing glance at the manuscripts
which have strayed across the Atlantic.
Pages:
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401