Various
The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction / Volume 19, No. 534, February 18, 1832
OUR LADY'S CHAPEL,
NIGHT-MARE
(For the Mirror.)Sleeping in night-mare's thunderstorm-wove lap,
On sunless mountain high above the pole;
With ice for sheets, and lightning for a cap,
And tons of loadstones weighing on his soul;
And eye out-stretched upon some vasty map
Of uncouth worlds, which ever onward roll
To infinitelike Revelation's scroll.
Now falling headlong from his mountain bed
Down sulph'rous space, o'er dismal lakes;
Now held by hand of airon wings of lead
He tries to risegaspingthe hands' hold breaks,
And downward he reels through shadows of the dead,
Who cannot die though stalking in hell's flakes,
Falling, he catches his heart-string on some hook, andwakes.
LACONICS
There is nothing to be said in favour of fashion, and yet how many are contented implicitly to obey its commands: its rules are not even dictated by the standard of taste, for it is constantly running into extremes and condemns one day what it approves the next.
There are some people so incorrigibly stupid and prosing, that wherever they are anxious of securing respect, silence would be their best policy.
As we advance in age, it is singular what a revolution takes place in our feelings. When we arrive at maturity an unkind word is more cutting and distresses us more than any bodily suffering; in our youth it was the reverse.