Emotions and Feelings

O’er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav’n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis’ry all he had, a tear, He gain’d from Heav’n (’twas all he wish’d) a friend.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav’n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis’ry all he had, a tear, He gain’d from Heav’n (’twas all he wish’d) a friend.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown. Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark’d him for her own.

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e’er resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling’ring look behind?

Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray; Along the cool sequester’d vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne’er unroll; Chill penury repress’d their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

To each his suff’rings: all are men, Condemn’d alike to groan, The tender for another’s pain, Th’ unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise.

To each his suff’rings: all are men, Condemn’d alike to groan, The tender for another’s pain, Th’ unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise.

What female heart can gold despise? What cat’s averse to fish?

Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.

Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.

Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond today.

Officious, innocent, sincere, Of every friendless name the friend.

Officious, innocent, sincere, Of every friendless name the friend.

Boswell: That, sir, was great fortitude of mind. Johnson: No, sir; stark insensibility.

With these [Love, Patience, Faith] celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find.

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consign’d, Our own felicity we make or find.

“Enlarge my life with multitude of days!” In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays: Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know That life protracted is protracted woe.

Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause a while from learning to be wise. There mark what ills the scholar’s life assail— Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.

Declamation roar’d, while Passion slept.

Here Skugg lies snug As a bug in a rug.

Of all the griefs that harass the distrest, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.