H., 1778.
No pent-up Utica contracts your powers,
But the whole boundless continent is yours.
* * * * *
SAMUEL WOODWORTH.
1785-1842.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON.
1788-1821.
_Childe Harold_.
Canto i. St. 9.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.
Canto ii. St. 2.
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
* * * * *
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Stanza 6.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the soul.
Stanza 23.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
Stanza 73.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!
Stanza 76.
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?
Stanza 88.
Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground.
* * * * *
Age shakes Athena's towers, but spares gray Marathon.
Canto iii. St. 1.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Stanza 21.
There was a sound of revelry by night.
And all went merry as a marriage-bell.
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