...a tried child, And weep away this life of care, Which I have borne and still must bear, Till denth, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel, in...the warm air, My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Brenthe o'er my dying brain its last monotony." Shelley. 'T is a spring hour : the silvery green Of...

...like a tired child, And weep away this life of care, Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till Death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air, My heart grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my outworn brain its last monotony." The line stands...

...sadness, hat of that sort of sadness, he nays: •• Some might lament that I were cold, Afl I when thifl sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insnlts with its nntimely moan ; They might lament, for 1 am one Whom men love not, and yet regret,...

...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...and hear the sea [Breathe o'er my dying brain its lost monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost...

...care, Which I nave borne and still must bear, Till death like Bleep should steal on mo ; And I could feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the Eea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony,' our respected contemporary bowed down his face...

...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lamant — for I am one Whom men lore not, — and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun...

...Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might fefl in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony ! And the second is beaded " Mutability," a beautiful little piece. Shelley has been called an atheist:...

...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hoar the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As...

...like a tired ehild, And weep away the life of eare Whieh I have borne, and yet mnst bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My eheek grow eold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament...

...weep away this life of care, Which I have borne and still must bear, Till death like sleep might seize on me, And I might feel in the warm air, My cheek...sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony !' . . . Too beautiful to laugh at, however empty and sentimental. True ; but why beautiful? Because...