text:
Part 14 out of 33
For him there's a story in every breeze,
And a picture in every wave.
Then sing to lighten the languid way;
When brows are glowing,
And faint with rowing,
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.
* * * * *
'Tis sweet to behold when the billows are sleeping,
Some gay-colored bark moving gracefully by;
No damp on her deck but the eventide's weeping,
No breath in her sails but the summer wind's sigh.
Yet who would not turn with a fonder emotion,
To gaze on the life-boat, tho' rugged and worn.
Which often hath wafted o'er hills of the ocean
The lost light of hope to the seaman forlorn!
Oh! grant that of those who in life's sunny slumber
Around us like summer-barks idly have played,
When storms are abroad we may find in the number
One friend, like the life-boat, to fly to our aid.
* * * * *
When Lelia touched the lute,
Not _then_ alone 'twas felt,
But when the sounds were mute,
In memory still they dwelt.
Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers
Still we heard thy morning numbers.
Ah, how could she who stole
Such breath from simple wire,
Be led, in pride of soul,
To string with gold her lyre?
Sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh;
Golden now the strings she waketh!
But where are all the tales
Her lute so sweetly told?
In lofty themes she fails,
And soft ones suit not gold.
Rich lute! we see thee glisten,
But, alas! no more we listen!
* * * * *
Young Love lived once in a humble shed,
Where roses breathing
And woodbines wreathing
Around the lattice their tendrils spread,
As wild and sweet as the life he led.
His garden flourisht,
For young Hope nourisht.
The infant buds with beams and showers;
But lips, tho' blooming, must still be fed,
And not even Love can live on flowers.
Alas! that Poverty's evil eye
Should e'er come hither,
Such sweets to wither!
The flowers laid down their heads to die,
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh.
She came one morning.
Ere Love had warning,
And raised the latch, where the young god lay;
"Oh ho!" said Love--"is it you? good-by;"
So he oped the window and flew away!
* * * * *
Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies
In youthful hearts that hope like mine;
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes
That leads us to thy fairy shrine.
There if we find the sigh, the tear,
They are not those to sorrow known;
But breathe so soft, and drop so clear,
That bliss may claim them for her own.
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens woe,
And teaches even our tears to keep
The tinge of pleasure as they flow.
The child who sees the dew of night
Upon the spangled hedge at morn,
Attempts to catch the drops of light,
But wounds his finger with the thorn.
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek,
Are lost when touched, and turned to pain;
The flush they kindle leaves the cheek,
The tears they waken long remain.
But give me, give me, etc.
* * * * *
To sigh, yet feel no pain.
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life unchilled, unmoved,
To love in wintry age the same
As first in youth we loved;
To feel that we adore
To such refined excess.
That tho' the heart would break with _more_,
We could not live with _less_;
This is love, faithful love,
Such as saints might feel above.
* * * * *
Dear aunt, in the olden time of love,
When women like slaves were spurned,
A maid gave her heart, as she would her glove,
To be teased by a fop, and returned!
But women grow wiser as men improve.
And, tho' beaux, like monkeys, amuse us,
Oh! think not we'd give such a delicate gem
As the heart to be played with or sullied by them;
No, dearest aunt, excuse us.
We may know by the head on Cupid's seal
What impression the heart will take;
If shallow the head, oh! soon we feel
What a poor impression 'twill make!
Tho' plagued, Heaven knows! by the foolish zeal
Of the fondling fop who pursues me,
Oh, think not I'd follow their desperate rule,
Who get rid of the folly by wedding the fool;
No, dearest aunt! excuse me.
* * * * *
When Charles was deceived by the maid he loved,
We saw no cloud his brow o'er-casting,
But proudly he smiled as if gay and unmoved,
Tho' the wound in his heart was deep and lasting.
And oft at night when the tempest rolled
He sung as he paced the dark deck over--
"Blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover."
Yet he lived with the happy and seemed to be gay,
Tho' the wound but sunk more deep for concealing;
And Fortune threw many a thorn in his way,
Which, true to one anguish, he trod without feeling!
And still by the frowning of Fate unsubdued
He sung as if sorrow had placed him above her--
"Frown, Fate, frown! thou art not so rude
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover."
At length his career found a close in death,
The close he long wished to his cheerless roving,
For Victory shone on his latest breath,
And he died in a cause of his heart's approving.
But still he remembered his sorrow,--and still
He sung till the vision of life was over--
"Come, death, come! thou art not so chill
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover."
* * * * *
When life looks lone and dreary,
What light can dispel the gloom?
When Time's swift wing grows weary,
What charm can refresh his plume?
'Tis woman whose sweetness beameth
O'er all that we feel or see;
And if man of heaven e'er dreameth,
'Tis when he thinks purely of thee,
O woman!
Let conquerors fight for glory,
Too dearly the meed they gain;
Let patriots live in story--
Too often they die in vain;
Give kingdoms to those who choose 'em,
This world can offer to me
No throne like Beauty's bosom,
No freedom like serving thee,
O woman!
A lottery, a Lottery,
In Cupid's court there used to be;
Two roguish eyes
The highest prize
In Cupid's scheming Lottery;
And kisses, too,
As good as new,
Which weren't very hard to win,
For he who won
The eyes of fun
Was sure to have the kisses in
A Lottery, a Lottery, etc.
This Lottery, this Lottery,
In Cupid's court went merrily,
And Cupid played
A Jewish trade
In this his scheming Lottery;
For hearts, we're told,
In _shares_ he sold
To many a fond believing drone,
And cut the hearts
In sixteen parts
So well, each thought the whole his own.
_Chor_.--A Lottery, a Lottery, etc.
* * * * *
Tho' sacred the tie that our country entwineth,
And dear to the heart her remembrance remains,
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth,
And sad the remembrance that slavery stains.
O thou who wert born in the cot of the peasant,
But diest in languor in luxury's dome,
Our vision when absent--our glory, when present--
Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.
Farewell to the land where in childhood I've wandered!
In vain is she mighty, in vain, is she brave!
Unblest is the blood that for tyrants is squandered,
And fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave.
But hail to thee, Albion! who meet'st the commotion.
Of Europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam!
With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean,
Hail, Temple of Liberty! thou art my home.
* * * * *
Oh think, when a hero is sighing,
What danger in such an adorer!
What woman can dream' of denying
The hand that lays laurels before her?
No heart is so guarded around,
But the smile of the victor will take it;
No bosom can slumber so sound,
But the trumpet of glory will wake it.
Love sometimes is given to sleeping,
And woe to the heart that allows him;
For oh, neither smiling nor weeping
Has power at those moments to rouse him.
But tho' he was sleeping so fast,
That the life almost seemed to forsake him,
Believe me, one soul-thrilling blast
From the trumpet of glory would wake him.
* * * * *
Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice,
The one squeaking thus, and the other down so!
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice,
For one was B alt, and the rest G below.
Oh! oh, Orator Puff!
One voice for one orator's surely enough.
But he still talked away spite of coughs and of frowns,
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs,
That a wag once on hearing the orator say,
"My voice is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray?"
Oh! oh! etc.
Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin,
And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown,
He tript near a sawpit, and tumbled right in,
"Sinking Fund," the last words as his noddle came down.
Oh! oh, etc.
"Help! help!" he exclaimed, in his he and she tones,
"Help me out! help me out--I have broken my bones!"
"Help you out?" said a Paddy who passed, "what a bother!
Why, there's two of you there, can't you help one another?"
Oh I oh! etc.
(_Entering as if to announce the Play_.)
Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night,
For the ninth time--oh accents of delight
To the poor author's ear, when _three times three_
With a full bumper crowns, his Comedy!
When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken,
He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken,
And sees his play-bill circulate--alas,
The only bill on which his name will pass!
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame
Thro' box and gallery waft your well-known name,
While critic eyes the happy cast shall con,
And learned ladies spell your _Dram. Person_.
'Tis said our worthy Manager[1]intends
To help my night, and _he_, ye know, has friends.
Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, or _parts_,
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts,
There's nothing like him! wits, at his request.
Are turned to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest;
Soldiers, for him, good "trembling cowards" make,
And beaus, turned clowns, look ugly for his sake;
For him even lawyers talk without a fee,
For him (oh friendship) _I_ act tragedy!
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks
Make _boars_ amusing, and put life in _sticks_.
With _such_ a manager we can't but please,
Tho' London sent us all her loud O. P.'s,[2]
Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle,
Armed with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle;
You, on our side, R. P.[3]upon our banners,
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners:
And show that, here--howe'er John Bull may doubt--
In all _our_ plays, the Riot-Act's cut out;
And, while we skim the cream of many a jest,
Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest.
Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past,
At Shakespeare's altar,[4] shall we breathe our last;
And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods,
Die all, die nobly, die like demigods!
[1] The late Mr. Richard Power.
[2] The brief appellation by which these persons were distinguished who,
at the opening of the new theatre of Convent Garden, clamored for the
continuance of the old prices of admission.
[3] The initials of our manager's name.
[4] This alludes to a scenic representation then preparing for the last
night of the performances.
* * * * *
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour,
There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power;
And there are tears, too--tears that Memory sheds
Even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads,
When her heart misses one lamented guest,[1]
Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest!
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task,
And drooping weeps behind Thalia's mask.
Forgive this gloom--forgive this joyless strain,
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train.
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter,
As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter;
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails--
As glow-worms keep their splendor for their tails.
I know not why--but time, methinks, hath past
More fleet than usual since we parted last.
It seems but like a dream of yesternight.
Whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying light;
And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue
Of former joy, we come to kindle new.
Thus ever may the flying moments haste
With trackless foot along life's vulgar waste,
But deeply print and lingeringly move,
When thus they reach the sunny spots we love.
Oh yes, whatever be our gay career,
Let this be still the solstice of the year,
Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain,
And slowly sink to level life again.
[1] The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest members and best actors of
the Kilkenny Theatrical Society.
A sylph, as bright as ever sported
Her figure thro' the fields of air,
By an old swarthy Gnome was courted.
And, strange to say, he won the fair.
The annals of the oldest witch
A pair so sorted could not show,
But how refuse?--the Gnome was rich,
The Rothschild of the world below;
And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures,
Are told, betimes, they must consider
Love as an auctioneer of features,
Who knocks them down to the best bidder.
Home she was taken to his Mine--
A Palace paved with diamonds all--
And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine,
Sent out her tickets for a ball.
The _lower_ world of course was there,
And all the best; but of the _upper_
The sprinkling was but shy and rare,--
A few old Sylphids who loved supper.
As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp
Of DAVY, that renowned Aladdin,
And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp
Which accidents from fire were had in;
The chambers were supplied with light
By many strange but safe devices;
Large fire-flies, such as shine at night
Among the Orient's flowers and spices;--
Musical flint-mills--swiftly played
By elfin hands--that, flashing round,
Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids,
Gave out at once both light and sound.
Bologna stones that drink the sun;
And water from that Indian sea,
Whose waves at night like wildfire run--
Corked up in crystal carefully.
Glow-worms that round the tiny dishes
Like little light-houses, were set up;
And pretty phosphorescent fishes
That by their own gay light were eat up.
'Mong the few guests from Ether came
That wicked Sylph whom Love we call--
My Lady knew him but by name,
My Lord, her husband, not at all.
Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, apprised
That he was coming, and, no doubt
Alarmed about his torch, advised
He should by all means be kept out.
But others disapproved this plan,
And by his flame tho' somewhat frighted,
Thought Love too much a gentleman
In such a dangerous place to light it.
However, _there_ he was--and dancing
With the fair Sylph, light as a feather;
They looked like two fresh sunbeams glancing
At daybreak down to earth together.
And all had gone off safe and well,
But for that plaguy torch whose light,
Though not _yet_ kindled--who could tell
How soon, how devilishly, it _might_?
And so it chanced--which, in those dark
And fireless halls was quite amazing;
Did we not know how small a spark
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing.
Whether it came (when close entangled
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes,
Or from the _lucciole_, that spangled
Her locks of jet--is all surmise;
But certain 'tis the ethereal girl
_Did_ drop a spark at some odd turning,
Which by the waltz's windy whirl
Was fanned up into actual burning.
Oh for that Lamp's metallic gauze,
That curtain of protecting wire,
Which DAVY delicately draws
Around illicit, dangerous fire!--
The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air,
(Like that which barred young Thisbe's bliss,)
Thro' whose small holes this dangerous pair
May see each other but not kiss.
At first the torch looked rather bluely,--
A sign, they say, that no good boded--
Then quick the gas became unruly.
And, crack! the ball-room all exploded.
Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mixt together,
With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces,
Like butterflies in stormy weather,
Were blown--legs, wings, and tails--to pieces!
While, mid these victims of the torch,
The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part--
Found lying with a livid scorch
As if from lightning o'er her heart!
* * * * *
"Well done"--a laughing Goblin said--
Escaping from this gaseous strife--
"'Tis not the _first_ time Love has made
"A _blow-up_ in connubial life!"
_After a Conversation with Lord John Russell, in which he had intimated
some Idea of giving up all political Pursuits. _
What! _thou_, with thy genius, thy youth, and thy name--
Thou, born of a Russell--whose instinct to run
The accustomed career of thy sires, is the same
As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun!
Whose nobility comes to thee, stampt with a seal,
Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set;
With the blood of thy race, offered up for the weal
Of a nation that swears by that martyrdom yet!
Shalt _thou_ be faint-hearted and turn from the strife,
From the mighty arena, where all that is grand
And devoted and pure and adorning in life,
'Tis for high-thoughted spirits like thine to command?
Oh no, never dream it--while good men despair
Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow,
Never think for an instant thy country can spare
Such a light from her darkening horizon as thou.
With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those
Who in life's sunny valley lie sheltered and warm;
Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose
To the top cliffs of Fortune and breasted her storm;
With an ardor for liberty fresh as in youth
It first kindles the bard and gives life to his lyre;
Yet mellowed, even now, by that mildness of truth
Which tempers but chills not the patriot fire;
With an eloquence--not like those rills from a height,
Which sparkle and foam and in vapor are o'er;
But a current that works out its way into light
Thro' the filtering recesses of thought and of lore.
Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade;
If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame,
And the charms of thy cause have not power to persuade,
Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledged by thy Name.
Like the boughs of that laurel by Delphi's decree
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine,
So the branches that spring from the old Russell tree
Are by Liberty _claimed_ for the use of her Shrine.
"My birth-day"--what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears!
"When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And as Youth counts the shining links
That Time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks
How hard that chain will press at last.
Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said--"were he ordained to run
"His long career of life again,
"He would do all that he _had_ done."--
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birth-days speaks to me;
Far otherwise--of time it tells,
Lavished unwisely, carelessly:
Of counsel mockt; of talents made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines;
Of nursing many a wrong desire,
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire
That crost my pathway, for his star.--
All this it tells, and, could I trace
The imperfect picture o'er again.
With power to add, retouch, efface
The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away--
All--but that Freedom of the Mind
Which hath been more than wealth to me;
Those friendships, in my boyhood twined,
And kept till now unchangingly,
And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where Love's true light at last I've found,
Cheering within, when all grows dark
And comfortless and stormy round!
The more I've viewed this world, the more I've found,
That filled as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands within her own bright round
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.
Nor is it that her power can call up there
A single charm, that's not from Nature won,--
No more than rainbows in their pride can wear
A single tint unborrowed from the sun;
But 'tis the mental medium; it shines thro',
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make
Colors as gay as those on angels' wings!
Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny dearest, for thee I'd sigh;
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears when thou art nigh.
But between love and wine and sleep,
So busy a life I live,
That even the time it would take to weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then wish me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!
The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.
Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny dearest, thy image lies;
But ah! the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimmed too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it thro' sorrow's tear;
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beams clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow--
Fanny, dearest! the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.
_dicebas quondam, etc_.
Thou told'st me, in our days of love,
That I had all that heart of thine;
That, even to share the couch of Jove,
Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine.
How purely wert thou worshipt then!
Not with the vague and vulgar fires
Which Beauty wakes in soulless men,--
But loved, as children by their sires.
That flattering dream, alas, is o'er;--
I know thee now--and tho' these eyes
Doat on thee wildly as before,
Yet, even in doating, I despise.
Yes, sorceress--mad as it may seem--
With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee,
That passion even outlives esteem.
And I at once adore--and scorn thee.
_pauca nunciate meae puellae_.
Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er
The fates have willed thro' life I've roved,
Now speed ye home, and with you bear
These bitter words to her I've loved.
Tell her from fool to fool to run,
Where'er her vain caprice may call;
Of all her dupes not loving one,
But ruining and maddening all.
Bid her forget--what now is past--
Our once dear love, whose rain lies
Like a fair flower, the meadow's last.
Which feels the ploughshare's edge and dies!
_peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle_.
Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles--
How gladly back to thee I fly!
Still doubting, asking--_can_ it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky,
And gaze in safety upon thee?
Oh! what is happier than to find
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lightened mind
Lays down its load of care at last:
When tired with toil o'er land and deep,
Again we tread the welcome floor
Of our own home, and sink to sleep
On the long-wished-for bed once more.
This, this it is that pays alone
The ills of all life's former track.--
Shine out, my beautiful, my own
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.
And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs
The light of heaven like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice--let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!
_nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, etc.,
Lib. iv. Carm. 13_.
"Never shall woman's smile have power
"To win me from those gentle charms!"--
Thus swore I, in that happy hour,
When Love first gave thee to my arms.
And still alone thou charm'st my sight--
Still, tho' our city proudly shine
With forms and faces, fair and bright,
I see none fair or bright but thine.
Would thou wert fair for only me,
And couldst no heart but mine allure!--
To all men else unpleasing be,
So shall I feel my prize secure.
Oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest
Of others' envy, others' praise;
But, in its silence safely blest,
Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays.
Charm of my life! by whose sweet power
All cares are husht, all ills subdued--
My light in even the darkest hour,
My crowd in deepest solitude!
No, not tho' heaven itself sent down
Some maid of more than heavenly charms,
With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown,
Would he for her forsake those arms!
With women and apples both Paris and Adam
Made mischief enough in their day:--
God be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear Madam,
Depends not on _us_, the same way.
For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple,
The world would have doubly to rue thee:
Like Adam, I'd gladly take _from_ thee the apple,
Like Paris, at once give it _to_ thee.
September, 1818.
Some think we bards have nothing real;
That poets live among the stars so,
Their very dinners are ideal,--
(And, heaven knows, too oft they _are_ so,)--
For instance, that we have, instead
Of vulgar chops and stews and hashes,
First course--a Phoenix, at the head.
Done in its own celestial ashes;
At foot, a cygnet which kept singing
All the time its neck was wringing.
Side dishes, thus--Minerva's owl,
Or any such like learned fowl:
Doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets,
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets.
Larks stewed in Morning's roseate breath,
Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor;
And nightingales, berhymed to death--
Like young pigs whipt to make them tender.
Such fare may suit those bards, who are able
To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table;
But as for me, who've long been taught
To eat and drink like other people;
And can put up with mutton, bought
Where Bromham[1] rears its ancient steeple--
If Lansdowne will consent to share
My humble feast, tho' rude the fare,
Yet, seasoned by that salt he brings
From Attica's salinest springs,
'Twill turn to dainties;--while the cup,
Beneath his influence brightening up,
Like that of Baucis, touched by Jove,
Will sparkle fit for gods above!
[1] A picturesque village in sight of my cottage, and from which it is
separated out by a small verdant valley.
All, as he left it!--even the pen,
So lately at that mind's command,
Carelessly lying, as if then
Just fallen from his gifted hand.
Have we then lost him? scarce an hour,
A little hour, seems to have past,
Since Life and Inspiration's power
Around that relic breathed their last.
Ah, powerless now--like talisman
Found in some vanished wizard's halls,
Whose mighty charm with him began,
Whose charm with him extinguisht falls.
Yet, tho', alas! the gifts that shone
Around that pen's exploring track,
Be now, with its great master, gone,
Nor living hand can call them back;
Who does not feel, while thus his eyes
Rest on the enchanter's broken wand,
Each earth-born spell it worked arise
Before him in succession grand?
Grand, from the Truth that reigns o'er all;
The unshrinking truth that lets her light
Thro' Life's low, dark, interior fall,
Opening the whole, severely bright:
Yet softening, as she frowns along,
O'er scenes which angels weep to see--
Where Truth herself half veils the Wrong,
In pity of the Misery.
True bard!--and simple, as the race
Of true-born poets ever are,
When, stooping from their starry place,
They're children near, tho' gods afar.
How freshly doth my mind recall,
'Mong the few days I've known with thee,
One that, most buoyantly of all,
Floats in the wake of memory;[2]
When he, the poet, doubly graced,
In life, as in his perfect strain,
With that pure, mellowing power of Taste,
Without which Fancy shines in vain;
Who in his page will leave behind,
Pregnant with genius tho' it be,
But half the treasures of a mind,
Where Sense o'er all holds mastery:--
Friend of long years! of friendship tried
Thro' many a bright and dark event;
In doubts, my judge--in taste, my guide--
In all, my stay and ornament!
He, too, was of our feast that day,
And all were guests of one whose hand
Hath shed a new and deathless ray
Around the lyre of this great land;
In whose sea-odes--as in those shells
Where Ocean's voice of majesty
Seems still to sound--immortal dwells
Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea.
Such was our host; and tho', since then,
Slight clouds have risen 'twixt him and me,
Who would not grasp such hand again,
Stretched forth again in amity?
Who can, in this short life, afford
To let such mists a moment stay,
When thus one frank, atoning word,
Like sunshine, melts them all away?
Bright was our board that day--tho' _one_
Unworthy brother there had place;
As 'mong the horses of the Sun,
One was, they say, of earthly race.
Yet, _next_ to Genius is the power
Of feeling where true Genius lies;
And there was light around that hour
Such as, in memory, never dies;
Light which comes o'er me as I gaze,
Thou Relic of the Dead, on thee,
Like all such dreams of vanisht days,
Brightly, indeed--but mournfully!
[1] Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that gentleman did me the
honor of presenting to me the inkstand, pencil, etc., which their
distinguished father had long been in the habit of using.
[2] The lines that follow allude to a day passed in company with Mr.
Crabbe, many years since, when a party, consisting only of Mr. Rogers, Mr.
Crabbe, and the author of these verses, had the pleasure of dining with
Mr. Thomas Campbell, at his house at Sydenham.
When I would sing thy beauty's light,
Such various forms, and all so bright,
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear,
I know not which to call most fair,
Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring
For ever round thee, _which_ to sing.
When I would paint thee as thou _art_,
Then all thou _wert_ comes o'er my heart--
The graceful child in Beauty's dawn
Within the nursery's shade withdrawn,
Or peeping out--like a young moon
Upon a world 'twill brighten soon.
Then next in girlhood's blushing hour,
As from thy own loved Abbey-tower
I've seen thee look, all radiant, down,
With smiles that to the hoary frown
Of centuries round thee lent a ray,
Chasing even Age's gloom away;--
Or in the world's resplendent throng,
As I have markt thee glide along,
Among the crowds of fair and great
A spirit, pure and separate,
To which even Admiration's eye
Was fearful to approach too nigh;--
A creature circled by a spell
Within which nothing wrong could dwell;
And fresh and clear as from the source.
Holding through life her limpid course,
Like Arethusa thro' the sea,
Stealing in fountain purity.
Now, too, another change of light!
As noble bride, still meekly bright
Thou bring'st thy Lord a dower above
All earthly price, pure woman's love;
And showd'st what lustre Rank receives,
When with his proud Corinthian leaves
Her rose this high-bred Beauty weaves.
Wonder not if, where all's so fair,
To choose were more than bard can dare;
Wonder not if, while every scene
I've watched thee thro' so bright hath been,
The enamored muse should, in her quest
Of beauty, know not where to rest,
But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall,
Hailing thee beautiful in all!
Of all speculations the market holds forth,
The best that I know for a lover of pelf,
Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is worth,
And then sell him at that which he sets on himself.
They tell us of an Indian tree,
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth,
From which the life that, fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth.
'Tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (_if_ fame it be)
This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!
Love had a fever--ne'er could close
His little eyes till day was breaking;
And wild and strange enough, Heaven knows,
The things he raved about while waking.
To let him pine so were a sin;--
One to whom all the world's a debtor--
So Doctor Hymen was called in,
And Love that night slept rather better.
Next day the case gave further hope yet,
Tho' still some ugly fever latent;--
"Dose, as before"--a gentle opiate.
For which old Hymen has a patent.
After a month of daily call,
So fast the dose went on restoring,
That Love, who first ne'er slept at all,
Now took, the rogue! to downright snoring.
_carbone notati_.
Ay--down to the dust with them, slaves as they are,
From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins,
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war,
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
On, on like a cloud, thro' their beautiful vales,
Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er--
Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails
From each slave-mart of Europe and shadow their shore!
Let their fate be a mock-word--let men of all lands
Laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles,
When each sword that the cowards let fall from their hands
Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls.
And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driven,
Base slaves! let the whet of their agony be,
To think--as the Doomed often think of that heaven
They had once within reach--that they _might_ have been free.
Oh shame! when there was not a bosom whose heat
Ever rose 'bove the _zero_ of Castlereagh's heart.
That did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat,
And send all its prayers with your Liberty's start;
When the world stood in hope--when a spirit that breathed
The fresh air of the olden time whispered about;
And the swords of all Italy, halfway unsheathed,
But waited one conquering cry to flash out!
When around you the shades of your Mighty in fame,
FILICAJAS and PETRARCHS, seemed bursting to view,
And their words and their warnings, like tongues of bright flame
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you!
Oh shame! that in such a proud moment of life
Worth the history of ages, when, had you but hurled
One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife
Between freemen and tyrants had spread thro' the world--
That then--oh! disgrace upon manhood--even then,
You should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath;
Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men,
And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death.
It is strange, it is dreadful:--shout, Tyranny, shout
Thro' your dungeons and palaces, "Freedom is o'er;"--
If there lingers one spark of her light, tread it out,
And return to your empire of darkness once more.
For if _such_ are the braggarts that claim to be free,
Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me kiss;
Far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee,
Than to sully even chains by a struggle like this!
Ere Psyche drank the cup that shed
Immortal Life into her soul,
Some evil spirit poured, 'tis said,
One drop of Doubt into the bowl--
Which, mingling darkly with the stream,
To Psyche's lips--she knew not why--
Made even that blessed nectar seem
As tho' its sweetness soon would die.
Oft, in the very arms of Love,
A chill came o'er her heart--a fear
That Death might, even yet, remove
Her spirit from that happy sphere.
"Those sunny ringlets," she exclaimed.
Twining them round her snowy fingers;
"That forehead, where a light unnamed,
"Unknown on earth, for ever lingers;
"Those lips, thro' which I feel the breath
"Of Heaven itself, whene'er they sever--
"Say, are they mine, beyond all death,
"My own, hereafter, and for ever?
"Smile not--I know that starry brow,
"Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine,
"Will always shine, as they do now--
"But shall _I_ live to see them shine?"
In vain did Love say, "Turn thine eyes
"On all that sparkles round thee here--
"Thou'rt now in heaven where nothing dies,
"And in these arms--what _canst_ thou fear?"
In vain--the fatal drop, that stole
Into that cup's immortal treasure,
Had lodged its bitter near her soul.
And gave a tinge to every pleasure.
And, tho' there ne'er was transport given
Like Psyche's with that radiant boy,
Here is the only face in heaven,
That wears a cloud amid its joy.
"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life,
"There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake--
"It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife"--
"Why, so it is, father--whose wife shall I take?"
Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood
By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky,
Is that remembrance which the wise and good
Leave in the hearts that love them, when they die.
So pure, so precious shall the memory be,
Bequeathed, in dying, to our souls by thee--
So shall the love we bore thee, cherisht warm
Within our souls thro' grief and pain and strife,
Be, like Elisha's cruse, a holy charm,
Wherewith to "heal the waters" of this life!
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt?--
Resembles much friend Ewart's[1] wine,
When _first_ the rosy drops come out,
How beautiful, how clear they shine!
And thus awhile they keep their tint,
So free from even a shade with some,
That they would smile, did you but hint,
That darker drops would _ever_ come.
But soon the ruby tide runs short,
Each minute makes the sad truth plainer,
Till life, like old and crusty port,
When near its close, requires a strainer.
_This_ friendship can alone confer,
Alone can teach the drops to pass,
If not as bright as _once_ they were,
At least unclouded, thro' the glass.
Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine.
Of which this heart were fonder, vainer,
Than thus, if life grow like old wine,
To have _thy_ friendship for its strainer.
[1] A wine-merchant.
Here lies Factotum Ned at last;
Long as he breathed the vital air,
Nothing throughout all Europe past
In which Ned hadn't some small share.
Whoe'er was _in_, whoe'er was _out_,
Whatever statesmen did or said,
If not exactly brought about,
'Twas all, at least, contrived by Ned.
With Nap, if Russia went to war,
'Twas owing, under Providence,
To certain hints Ned gave the Tsar--
(Vide his pamphlet--price, sixpence.)
If France was beat at Waterloo--
As all but Frenchmen think she was--
To Ned, as Wellington well knew,
Was owing half that day's applause.
Then for his news--no envoy's bag
E'er past so many secrets thro' it;
Scarcely a telegraph could wag
Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it.
Such tales he had of foreign plots,
With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in!
From Russia, _shefs_ and _ofs_ in lots,
From Poland, _owskis_ by the dozen.
When George, alarmed for England's creed,
Turned out the last Whig ministry,
And men asked--who advised the deed?
Ned modestly confest 'twas he.
For tho', by some unlucky miss,
He had not downright _seen_ the King,
He sent such hints thro' Viscount _This_,
To Marquis _That_, as clenched the thing.
The same it was in science, arts,
The Drama, Books, MS. and printed--
Kean learned from Ned his cleverest parts,
And Scott's last work by him was hinted.
Childe Harold in the proofs he read,
And, here and there infused some soul in't--
Nay, Davy's Lamp, till seen by Ned,
Had--odd enough--an awkward hole in't.
'Twas thus, all-doing and all-knowing,
Wit, statesman, boxer, chymist, singer,
Whatever was the best pie going,
In _that_ Ned--trust him--had his finger.
* * * * *
What shall I sing thee? Shall I tell
Of that bright hour, remembered well
As tho' it shone but yesterday,
When loitering idly in the ray
Of a spring sun I heard o'er-head,
My name as by some spirit said,
And, looking up, saw two bright eyes
Above me from a casement shine,
Dazzling my mind with such surprise
As they, who sail beyond the Line,
Feel when new stars above them rise;--
And it was thine, the voice that spoke,
Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then;
And thine the eye whose lustre broke--
Never to be forgot again!
What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave
A song of that sweet summer-eve,
(Summer, of which the sunniest part
Was that we, each, had in the heart,)
When thou and I, and one like thee,
In life and beauty, to the sound
Of our own breathless minstrelsy.
Danced till the sunlight faded round,
Ourselves the whole ideal Ball,
Lights, music, company, and all?
Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain
Of lute like mine, whose day is past,
To call up even a dream again
Of the fresh light those moments cast.
One night the nymph called country dance--
(Whom folks, of late, have used so ill,
Preferring a coquette from France,
That mincing thing, _Mamselle_ quadrille)--
Having been chased from London down
To that most humble haunt of all
She used to grace--a Country Town--
Went smiling to the New-Year's Ball.
"Here, here, at least," she cried, tho' driven
"From London's gay and shining tracks--
"Tho', like a Peri cast from heaven,
"I've lost, for ever lost, Almack's--
"Tho' not a London Miss alive
"Would now for her acquaintance own me;
"And spinsters, even, of forty-five,
"Upon their honors ne'er have known me;
"Here, here, at least, I triumph still,
"And--spite of some few dandy Lancers.
"Who vainly try to preach Quadrille--
"See naught but _true-blue_ Country Dancers,
"Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms,
"My throne, like Magna Charta, raise
"'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms,
"That scorn the threatened _chaine anglaise_."
'Twas thus she said, as mid the din
Of footmen, and the town sedan,
She lighted at the King's Head Inn,
And up the stairs triumphant ran.
The Squires and their Squiresses all,
With young Squirinas, just _come out_,
And my Lord's daughters from the Hall,
(Quadrillers in their hearts no doubt,)--
All these, as light she tript upstairs,
Were in the cloak-room seen assembling--
When, hark! some new outlandish airs,
From the First Fiddle, set her trembling.
She stops--she listens--_can_ it be?
Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it--
It _is "Di tanti palpiti"_
As plain as English bow can scrape it.
"Courage!" however--in she goes,
With her best, sweeping country grace;
When, ah too true, her worst of foes,
Quadrille, there meets her, face to face.
Oh for the lyre, or violin,
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore,
To sing the rage these nymphs were in,
Their looks and language, airs and trickery.
There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face
(The beau-ideal of French beauty),
A band-box thing, all art and lace
Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie.
Her flounces, fresh from _Victorine_--
From _Hippolyte_, her rouge and hair--
Her poetry, from _Lamartine_--
Her morals, from--the Lord knows where.
And, when she danced--so slidingly,
So near the ground she plied her art,
You'd swear her mother-earth and she
Had made a compact ne'er to part.
Her face too, all the while, sedate,
No signs of life or motion showing.
Like a bright _pendule's_ dial-plate--
So still, you'd hardly think 'twas _going_.
Full fronting her stood Country Dance--
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know
For English, at a single glance--
English all o'er, from top to toe.
A little _gauche_, 'tis fair to own,
And rather given to skips and bounces;
Endangering thereby many a gown,
And playing, oft, the devil with flounces.
Unlike _Mamselle_--who would prefer
(As morally a lesser ill)
A thousand flaws of character,
To one vile rumple of a frill.
No rouge did She of Albion wear;
Let her but run that two-heat race
She calls a _Set_, not Dian e'er
Came rosier from the woodland chase.
Such was the nymph, whose soul had in't
Such anger now--whose eyes of blue
(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint,
Which English maids call "Waterloo")--
Like summer lightnings, in the dusk
Of a warm evening, flashing broke.
While--to the tune of "Money Musk,"[1]
Which struck up now--she proudly spoke--
"Heard you that strain--that joyous strain?
"'Twas such as England loved to hear,
"Ere thou and all thy frippery train,
"Corrupted both her foot and ear--
"Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands,
"Presumed, in sight of all beholders,
"To lay his rude, licentious hands
"On virtuous English backs and shoulders--
"Ere times and morals both grew bad,
"And, yet unfleeced by funding block-heads,
"Happy John Bull not only _had_,
"But danced to, 'Money in both pockets.'
"Alas, the change!--Oh, Londonderry,
"Where is the land could 'scape disasters,
"With _such_ a Foreign Secretary,
"Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters?
"Woe to ye, men of ships and shops!
"Rulers of day-books and of waves!
"Quadrilled, on one side, into fops,
"And drilled, on t'other, into slaves!
"Ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen,
"Like pigeons, trussed for exhibition,
"With elbows, _a la crapaudine_,
"And feet, in--God knows what position;
"Hemmed in by watchful chaperons,
"Inspectors of your airs and graces,
"Who intercept all whispered tones,
"And read your telegraphic faces;
"Unable with the youth adored,
"In that grim _cordon_ of Mammas,
"To interchange one tender word,
"Tho' whispered but in _queue-de-chats_.
"Ah did you know how blest we ranged,
"Ere vile Quadrille usurpt the fiddle--
"What looks in _setting_ were exchanged,
"What tender words in _down the middle_;
"How many a couple, like the wind,
"Which nothing in its course controls,
Left time and chaperons far behind,
"And gave a loose to legs and souls;
How matrimony throve--ere stopt
"By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting--
"How charmingly one's partner propt
"The important question in _poussetteing_.
"While now, alas--no sly advances--
"No marriage hints--all goes on badly--
"'Twixt Parson Malthus and French Dances,
"We, girls, are at a discount sadly.
"Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell)
"Declares not half so much is made
"By Licences--and he must know well--
"Since vile Quadrilling spoiled the trade."
She ceased--tears fell from every Miss--
She now had touched the true pathetic:--
One such authentic fact as this,
Is worth whole volumes theoretic.
Instant the cry was "Country Dance!"
And the maid saw with brightening face,
The Steward of the night advance,
And lead her to her birthright place.
The fiddles, which awhile had ceased,
Now tuned again their summons sweet,
And, for one happy night, at least,
Old England's triumph was complete.
[1] An old English country dance.
Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh;
Already, in the unopened flowers
That sleep around us, Fancy's eye
Can see the blush of future bowers;
And joy it brings to thee and me,
My own beloved Maami!
The streamlet frozen on its way,
To feed the marble Founts of Kings,
Now, loosened by the vernal ray,
Upon its path exulting springs--
As doth this bounding heart to thee,
My ever blissful Maami!
Such bright hours were not made to stay;
Enough if they awhile remain,
Like Irem's bowers, that fade away.
From time to time, and come again.
And life shall all one Irem be
For us, my gentle Maami.
O haste, for this impatient heart,
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale,
That rends its inmost leaves apart
With passion for the nightingale;
So languishes this soul for thee,
My bright and blushing Maami!
If ever life was prosperously cast,
If ever life was like the lengthened flow
Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last,
'Twas his who, mourned by many, sleeps below.
The sunny temper, bright where all is strife.
The simple heart above all worldly wiles;
Light wit that plays along the calm of life,
And stirs its languid surface into smiles;
Pure charity that comes not in a shower,
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds,
But, like the dew, with gradual silent power,
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads;
The happy grateful spirit, that improves
And brightens every gift by fortune given;
That, wander where it will with those it loves,
Makes every place a home, and home a heaven:
All these were his.--Oh, thou who read'st this stone,
When for thyself, thy children, to the sky
Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone,
That ye like him may live, like him may die!
_scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur_.
Of old, the Sultan Genius reigned,
As Nature meant, supreme alone;
With mind unchekt, and hands unchained,
His views, his conquests were his own.
But power like his, that digs its grave
With its own sceptre, could not last;
So Genius' self became the slave
Of laws that Genius' self had past.
As Jove, who forged the chain of Fate,
Was, ever after, doomed to wear it:
His nods, his struggles all too late--
"_Qui semel jussit, semper paret_."
To check young Genius' proud career,
The slaves who now his throne invaded,
Made Criticism his prime Vizir,
And from that hour his glories faded.
Tied down in Legislation's school,
Afraid of even his own ambition,
His very victories were by rule,
And he was great but by permission.
His most heroic deeds--the same,
That dazzled, when spontaneous actions--
Now, done by law, seemed cold and tame,
And shorn of all their first attractions.
If he but stirred to take the air,
Instant, the Vizir's Council sat--
"Good Lord, your Highness can't go there--
"Bless me, your Highness can't do that."
If, loving pomp, he chose to buy
Rich jewels for his diadem,
"The taste was bad, the price was high--
"A flower were simpler than a gem."
To please them if he took to flowers--
"What trifling, what unmeaning things!
"Fit for a woman's toilet hours,
"But not at all the style for Kings."
If, fond of his domestic sphere,
He played no more the rambling comet--
"A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear,
"But, as for great or brave, far from it."
Did he then look o'er distant oceans,
For realms more worthy to enthrone him?--
"Saint Aristotle, what wild notions!
"Serve a '_ne exeat regno_' on him."
At length, their last and worst to do,
They round him placed a guard of watchmen,
Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue
Turned up with yellow--chiefly Scotchmen;
To dog his footsteps all about
Like those in Longwood's prison grounds,
Who at Napoleon's heels rode out,
For fear the Conqueror should break bounds.
Oh for some Champion of his power,
Some _Ultra_ spirit, to set free,
As erst in Shakespeare's sovereign hour,
The thunders of his Royalty!--
To vindicate his ancient line,
The first, the true, the only one,
Of Right eternal and divine,
That rules beneath the blessed sun.
Written at Middleton.
Oh albums, albums, how I dread
Your everlasting scrap and scrawl!
How often wish that from the dead
Old Omar would pop forth his head,
And make a bonfire of you all!
So might I 'scape the spinster band,
The blushless blues, who, day and night,
Like duns in doorways, take their stand,
To waylay bards, with book in hand,
Crying for ever, "Write, sir, write!"
So might I shun the shame and pain,
That o'er me at this instant come,
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain,
Knocks at the portal of my brain,
And gets, for answer, "Not at home!"
_November, 1828_.
No wonder bards, both high and low,
From Byron down to ***** and me,
Should seek the fame which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
Let but the theme be Jersey's eyes,
At once all errors are forgiven;
As even old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, tho' dull, he sings of heaven.
At night, when all is still around.
How sweet to hear the distant sound
Of footstep, coming soft and light!
What pleasure in the anxious beat,
With which the bosom flies to meet
That foot that comes so soft at night!
And then, at night, how sweet to say
"'Tis late, my love!" and chide delay,
Tho' still the western clouds are bright;
Oh! happy, too, the silent press,
The eloquence of mute caress.
With those we love exchanged at night!
[1] These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a
Cupid, with the words "at night" written over him.
Gift of the Hero, on his dying day,
To her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh;
Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray,
This relic lights up on her generous eye,
Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay
A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy.
_Paris, July_, 1821
Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat,
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and--all that,
And wondering much what little knavish sprite
Had put it first in women's heads to write:--
Sudden I saw--as in some witching dream--
A bright-blue glory round my book-case beam,
From whose quick-opening folds of azure light
Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright
As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his head,
Some sunny morning from a violet bed.
"Bless me!" I starting cried "what imp are you?"--
"A small he-devil, Ma'am--my name BAS BLEU--
"A bookish sprite, much given to routs and reading;
"'Tis I who teach your spinsters of good breeding,
"The reigning taste in chemistry and caps,
"The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps,
"And when the waltz has twirled her giddy brain
"With metaphysics twirl it back again!"
I viewed him, as he spoke--his hose were blue,
His wings--the covers of the last Review--
Cerulean, bordered with a jaundice hue,
And tinselled gayly o'er, for evening wear,
Till the next quarter brings a new-fledged pair.
"Inspired by me--(pursued this waggish Fairy)--
"That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary,
"Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse,
"Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes.
"For me the eyes of young Camilla shine,
"And mingle Love's blue brilliances with mine;
"For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking,
"Looks wise--the pretty soul!--and _thinks_ she's thinking.
"By my advice Miss Indigo attends
"Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends,
"''Pon honor!--(_mimics_)--nothing can surpass the plan
"'Of that professor--(_trying to recollect_)--psha! that memory-man--
"'That--what's his name?--him I attended lately--
"''Pon honor, he improved _my_ memory greatly.'"
Here curtsying low, I asked the blue-legged sprite,
What share he had in this our play to-night.
'Nay, there--(he cried)--there I am guiltless quite--
"What! choose a heroine from that Gothic time
"When no one waltzed and none but monks could rhyme;
"When lovely woman, all unschooled and wild,
"Blushed without art, and without culture smiled--
"Simple as flowers, while yet unclassed they shone,
"Ere Science called their brilliant world her own,
"Ranged the wild, rosy things in learned orders,
"And filled with Greek the garden's blushing borders!--
"No, no--your gentle Inas will not do--
"To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue,
"I'll come--(_pointing downwards_)--you understand--till then adieu!"
And _has_ the sprite been here! No--jests apart--
Howe'er man rules in science and in art,
The sphere of woman's glories is the heart.
And, if our Muse have sketched with pencil true
The wife--the mother--firm, yet gentle too--
Whose soul, wrapt up in ties itself hath spun,
Trembles, if touched in the remotest one;
Who loves--yet dares even Love himself disown,
When Honor's broken shaft supports his throne:
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils,
Dire as they are, of Critics and--Blue Devils.


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You are currently browsing the monthly archive for February 2015.
A number of fellow Catholics over the years have asked me for advice and encouragement about going to Confession. Few things make me more glad than to share my love and appreciation for this very special Sacrament, and I pray very hard that all Catholics may be drawn to it. At the same time, I also understand that it's not an easy thing to do. So, especially now that we are in Lent, I would like to offer some encouragement for my brothers and sister who might be having difficulty approaching the Sacrament. (The following is from a letter I wrote to one dear person this evening; but I think it might be applicable and helpful to many people.)
I understand how much trepidation we can experience about going to Confession. It never completely goes away; I still struggle with it occasionally, and I'm sure everybody does. The reason is that the devil wants to prevent us all from going and receiving the tremendous grace, nourishment, and healing of the Sacrament. He will throw every lie and every negative feeling at us in order to stop us, to make us afraid, to make us distrustful and doubtful.
To withstand these difficult things takes God's grace. Nobody can do it alone. And so, what you should do now and very often is simply ask the Lord for His peace and for the grace to go to Confession. It may be helpful to pray this Act of Contrition–and note especially the part I've emphasized:
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.
Pray that at least once a day, and it won't be long until you start to feel much more at ease and even eager to go to Confession.
Trust that there are good reasons that Christ instituted the Sacrament of Reconciliation and made human priests ministers of His mercy. The Sacrament itself provides not only sanctifying grace, but a very special, particular sacramental grace–that of stronger resistance to sin. The priest, as a fellow sinner and fellow penitent, can provide valuable help and guidance. As a fellow human, he can speak those wonderful words of absolution in a voice we can hear.
You certainly have nothing to fear from a confessor. You may think that he will be judgmental or perhaps even outraged at your sins. But he won't. I've heard many priests say that sin is just sin–it's boring, it's dull, it's unimaginative, it's completely unremarkable. What they find truly remarkable is the courage and humility and faith of the penitents who come to them. And they feel privileged to be able to help and heal and minister to them.
I will just add here what I have told myself and others many times: In the whole universe, there is only one person who benefits from our not going to Confession–and that's Satan. Don't give him that benefit!
Also, I welcome anybody to contact me to ask further questions about Confession. I don't ever get tired of talking about it!
It was just about a year ago that I moved to my new home, a house I share with my mother. It's a lovely house, in a suburb. There's really nothing to dislike about it. But it's been a pretty big adjustment for me, having lived in the city center for a number of years. I have a much longer commute to work and to the Dominican priory. I had to find, and join, a different parish. I feel out of place as an unmarried women living among young families. Even when I've found activities and events that interest me and that are close to home, I haven't been able to get out and do things because I get home late in the evening. Or, in many cases, the activities of interest occur during the work week, during work hours.
For many months, I've been sort of drifting along, going through motions, without ever having the slightest sense that I belong where I am, that it is really my home. I've given in sometimes to discouragement, discontent, loneliness, frustration, anxiety–most of which I've tried to cure by just closing myself up in my room with a video game or television show. Naturally, this only increased my isolation, so that I fell into a downward spiral of depression. In trying to numb or distract myself, I also stopped putting God at the center of my life. I became lax in my prayer and religious obligations.
Fortunately, I did have the sense to go to Confession and dust myself off to try again. And fortunately, I also had Lent approaching quickly, and a new focus and purpose to put myself to. Of course, God and His grace are what have seen me through most of all.
So I started praying every day, several times a day:
Lord, please just help me settle down and be more at home here. Help me find ways to become part of this new community and my new parish. Help me find ways to contribute and form new relationships. I trust that you have planted me here for a reason. Whether or not that reason becomes clear to me, please help me to accept my new place and to flourish.
I can't say that I've had any remarkable epiphanies. I can't say anything has progressed. I definitely can't say that I've discovered the reason for my being where I am. But at least I have my faith and am clinging closer to God's side once more–and that always makes life so much richer. As part of my Lenten discipline, I am going to keep praying that prayer, along with all my other prayers and observances, and I'm not going to let myself give in to impatience or distrust. I know that the feelings will come, and the temptation to entertain them will be strong. But I'm not going to give in.
So, yesterday morning, as I was going about my business of getting ready for work, I turned one of the music channels on to help get my blood pumping. And this song came on: "Home" by Phillip Phillips. A song I'd heard before but never paid too much attention to. But this time, for whatever reason, I found myself really listening to the lyrics:
Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble—it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you're not alone
'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home
It was one of those amazing, unexpected moments when words strike you and move you and seem to have been meant just for you. And you wonder: how did I not hear this before? I know that many people would just shrug it off as a coincidence, nothing important. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's no such thing as a coincidence–not in the sense of something unimportant and accidental. So, my spirit has been very uplifted! And I feel sure that my prayer to be more at home has been heard and will be answered.
But, you know, feel free to add your own prayers for me! :)
A blessed Ash Wednesday to everybody! I find the prayer for today to be a really stirring send-off into the great season of Lent:
Grant, O Lord, that we may begin with holy fasting
this campaign of Christian service,
so that, as we take up battle against spiritual evils,
we may be armed with weapons of self-restraint.
With its images of campaign, battle, and weapons, this prayer is an explicit and vivid call to spiritual warfare. And it tells us exactly what we need in order to wage–and win–the battle: fasting, service, and self-restraint. This echoes and expands upon the traditional trio of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, each of which is so important, not only for spiritual warfare but for life in general.
Is it not a tremendous blessing that each year brings this season of Lent in which we can focus on deepening and growing and maturing in our spiritual lives? Is it not an exciting time? A kind of adventure? The word Lent means "Springtime," and that is a perfect name for this season of new opportunities for flourishing.
For a long time, I always thought of Lent as a dreary season of drudgery, with nothing uplifting or exciting or adventurous at all. I didn't see it as the wonderful opportunity that it is. I didn't realize or appreciate any of the rewards it can bring. I looked at Lent through the lens of the secular world and culture: just another way the Church crushed happiness and imposed pain upon its benighted and masochistic adherents. I much preferred the popular modern worldview that equates happiness with pleasure and goodness with feeling good. But that worldview leads nowhere. Follow it long enough and you may easily find yourself in the nothingness, the hopelessness, the extreme and all-consuming poverty of Hell. Those fortunate enough (as I was), will experience a taste of Hell before it is too late and becomes an eternal dwelling.
I don't deny that the season of Lent and the entirety of Christian life can sometimes be difficult, uncomfortable, and uncertain. But the rewards–especially the ultimate, eternal reward of Heaven–far outshine any of the difficult spots. And they really are just little spots when you pause to look back over where you've come. Little spots amidst oceans of joy, of love, of peace, and above all, of grace. Lent is a powerful means of unleashing those oceans!
So, let us all dare to leave behind some of our comfort and security and complacence–which make it all too easy to be self-centered–and have a successful Lent!

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Court reserves verdict in contempt case against police
Farooq H. Naik, the counsel of I.G. Sindh Ghulam Haider Jamali, argued in the court that the police action was out of the limits of court premises and all legal requirements were taken into consideration.
Police counsel submitted the copies of the relevant laws of other countries to the court. He said the arrested persons were wanted to police in heinous cases.
He argued that the action against media-persons was not the contempt of the court.
Justice Sajjad Ali Shah said that the incident took place within the symbol of justice and even the policemen on the court security were not taken into confidence over the matter. The Rangers personnel present at the scene also unaware about the identity of the plain clothed men.
Barrister Salahuddin, the counsel of media-persons argued that the police operation was an act of contempt.
Advocate General Sindh in his remarks advocated for imposition of minor fine over the accused policemen.
Justice Sajjad Shah remarked that the court will order Rs. 10 fine but all the diffidents involved in the incident have to quit their jobs.
The bench after hearing the arguments reserved the judgment, which will likely to be announced in the next hearing of the case.


text: IAB releases data usage guidelines By Kate Maddox. Published on May 03, 2010. New York—The Interactive Advertising Bureau released "The Data Usage & Control Primer: Best Practices & Definitions," which provides guidelines for online data collection and usage. The guidelines propose b-to-b best practices for data usage and control, and provide interactive advertising data definitions. The full guide is available at http://iab.net/data_primer. Most Popular In this article: BtoB


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Design - a pioneering ambition to lead.
The contours of the new S-Class combine stylish superiority with sporty elegance. The exciting lines suggest power and dynamism, even before the vehicle moves off. The interior delivers on the promise of the exterior: spaciousness, attractiveness and comfort, married together to give an unsurpassed ambience of well-being. Courtesy exclusively of the S-Class.
Handcrafted character
Perfection in every detail. Perfection from the Mercedes-Benz design house: the seats, optionally in nappa leather, topstitching with a diamond pattern, anodized air vents and large-area wood trim elements meet the highest standards.
AIR BALANCE package
S-Class Atmosphere. The perfection of the S-Class goes so far that it includes the air itself. The optional AIR-BALANCE package ionises the air, purifies and scents it with one of four atmospheric fragrances.
This suspension looks ahead. A technological milestone: The optional, handling dynamics-orientated MAGIC BODY CONTROL suspension adjusts in advance to the road conditions ahead.
ENERGIZING massage function
Relaxation at the highest level. The S-Class can be relaxing, stimulating or mobilising. With the optional ENERGIZING massage function all occupants have a total of six different programmes at their disposal.
Full LED headlamps
Pioneering lighting technology. Die LED High Performance headlamps lend the S-Class its unmistakable face. They illuminate the road optimally – fully automatically and with low energy consumption.
The new S-Class simply cannot be overlooked. Its exterior design is a union of stylish poise with sporty elegance. The highly-charged feature line, the three-dimensional radiator grille and the innovative headlamp and bicolour tail lamps deploying cutting-edge LED technology are all characteristic of the high-tech nature of the S-Class and help to underline its position as one of the world's leading saloons.
Even when at a standstill, this saloon gives the impression that it is about to burst into a sprint at any second. The front stands out for the new radiator grille, which has four louvres, its striking-looking bonnet and the clear contours of the LED High Performance headlamps.
The interplay of convex and concave surfaces endows the vehicle with a sporty dynamism. The rear end provides a fitting conclusion that is both sporty and elegant with its horizontal lines, and whose width emphasises the impressive feel to the vehicle. The new three-strip LED bicolour tail lamps appear to stand proud of the boot lid, providing a unique look in the dark.
The essence of the atmosphere in the generously-sized interior is all about feeling good, relaxing and being able to concentrate on your work if required. With its harmoniously-matched materials and colour schemes, the exclusive-looking interior presents itself as one beautifully-moulded whole. The clear craftsmanship at work here and the noble-looking finishes catch and captivate the eye.
One of the first features to catch the eye is the wood trim running all round the interior. In conjunction with the modernistic design, it conveys a feeling of expanse and peace. High-quality controls made from aluminium, together with metallised switch surfaces in pearl-effect finishes, are a clear outward sign of Mercedes-Benz quality.
The warm, white interior lighting and optional ambient lighting with a choice of seven colour moods exude a feeling of unadulterated comfort. The lighting units are positioned stylishly and discreetly throughout the interior - illuminating the door handle recesses and the front passenger footwell, for example. The innovative display unit in the driver's area, also appropriately lit, which contains the instrument cluster and head unit, consists of two large 31.2 centimetre TFT displays.
Click here to download a digital copy 17.38 MB.
If you would like a hard copy brochure for the S-Class Saloon please fill out the form below.
Click here to download a digital copy 18.56 MB.
If you would like a hard copy pricelist for the S-Class Saloon please fill out the form below.


text:
Monterey CountyCalifornia
Showing entries ...
- ... which are at least Vegan-Friendly
Filter listings by ...More filters ...
Showing 13 entries
5th Avenue Deli & Catering Co - Carmel-by-the-Sea
5th Avenue Deli & Catering CoVegan-Friendly
5th Ave
Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA 93923
Small deli with wraps, etc. to-goMore about 5th Avenue Deli & Catering Co
Alvarado Street Brewery & Grill - Monterey
Alvarado Street Brewery & GrillVegan-Friendly
Restaurant, Bar 426 Alvarado St
Monterey, CA 93940
Bar with vegan optionsMore about Alvarado Street Brewery & Grill
Ambrosia Indian Bistro - Aptos
Ambrosia Indian BistroVegan-Friendly
Restaurant, Bar 207 Sea Ridge Road
Aptos, CA
North Indian food with a separate vegan menu, also serves mixed cocktailsMore about Ambrosia Indian Bistro
Ambrosia Indian Bistro - Monterey
Ambrosia Indian BistroVegan-Friendly
Restaurant, Bar 565 Abrego St.
Monterey, CA 93940
North Indian food with a separate vegan menu, also serves mixed cocktailsMore about Ambrosia Indian Bistro
An Choi - Pacific Grove
An ChoiVegan-Friendly
1120 Lighthouse Ave
Pacific Grove, CA 93950
Asian contemporary cuisineMore about An Choi
El Cantaro Vegan Mexican Restaurant - Monterey
El Cantaro Vegan Mexican RestaurantVegan
791 Foam Street
Monterey, CA 93940
Vegan traditional style Mexican foodMore about El Cantaro Vegan Mexican Restaurant
Ike's Place - Salinas
Ike's PlaceVegan-Friendly
1822 N. Main Street
Salinas, CA
Sandwich shop with numerous mockmeat vegan sandwichesMore about Ike's Place
Julia's - Pacific Grove
1180 Forest Ave.
Pacific Grove, CA 93950
Vegetarian world food cafeMore about Julia's
Maha's Lebanese Cuisine - Monterey
Maha's Lebanese CuisineVegan-Friendly
470 Alvarado St.
Monterey, CA 93940
Lebanese foodMore about Maha's Lebanese Cuisine
Pajaro Street Wine Bar - Salinas
Pajaro Street Wine BarVegan-Friendly
Restaurant, Coffee/Tea/Juice, Bar 435 Pajaro St.
Salinas, CA 93901
Bistro wine bar with vegan optionsMore about Pajaro Street Wine Bar
Shogun - Salinas
216 Main Street
Salinas, CA 93901
Japanese CuisineMore about Shogun
Tillie Gort's Cafe - Pacific Grove
Tillie Gort's CafeVegan-Friendly
111 Central Avenue
Pacific Grove, California 93950
Vegetarian and Vegan food served with a Brazillian twistMore about Tillie Gort's Cafe
Whole Foods Market - Monterey
Whole Foods MarketVegan-Friendly
800 Del Monte Center
Monterey, California 93940
Whole Foods Market in MontereyMore about Whole Foods Market
Map icon key
The color coding for veg-friendliness is used for restaurants, groceries, bars, food court/street vendors, general stores, and lodging.
- Restaurant (100% vegan)
- Restaurant (100% vegetarian)
- Restaurant (vegan-friendly)
- Restaurant (vegetarian-friendly)
- Restaurant (not veg-friendly)
- Grocery
- Caterer
- Organization
- Coffee Shop/Juice Bar
- Bar
- General Store
- Food Court/Street Vendor
- Lodging (B&B, Hostel)
- Other


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Would you like to eat more whole grains with your family and friends? It just got easier with Sharing Size microwavable brown rice pouches from Hinode. Get a whole pound of authentically pre-cooked whole grain brown jasmine rice in each pouch. Tear open the 1lb pouch, heat for 2 ½ minutes in the microwave and serve. It's that easy! This soft fragrant variety of brown rice is lighter than standard whole grains so your family or friends will hardly know the difference. Cut down on your meal prep time and enjoy more whole grain brown rice.
Heat Hinode microwavable brown jasmine rice and serve with any meat or vegetables.
Product of Thailand
Available in 16oz pouch


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Websites sponsoring yearly contests, such as Goodhousekeeping.com or ThisOldHouse.com, feature some of the most elaborate homemade gingerbread houses. Moreover, websites such as Gingerbread-House-Heaven.com feature extensive photo galleries of less complex creations, complete with instructions and tips on how to reproduce them.
Goodhousekeeping.com features multiple galleries specifically dedicated to gingerbread houses, which users can access by typing the keywords "Gingerbread Houses" in the Search tab on the homepage. The December 2012 gallery presents some of the best submissions to the annual gingerbread contest, including all the winners and runners-up. For less elaborate creations, the November 2014 gallery presents some relatively simple ideas for the holiday season, including a mini-sized version of a traditional gingerbread house to serve with hot cocoa.
ThisOldHouse.com also features multiple galleries of award-winning gingerbread houses, including all the winners of the site's annual competition as well as some of the most extravagant creations entered in the annual National Gingerbread House Competition & Display. Users can access the galleries using the search tab located on the homepage.
Lastly, Gingerbread House Heaven is a website completely devoted to the art of creating and decorating gingerbread houses. Its galleries include highly complex creations, but also less elaborate and more easily replicated ideas. The website also sells templates and decorating kits, and features a large variety of recipes and step-by-step instructions.


text:
Think Success with UNOH's 100% Online MBA
Are you looking to take your career to the next level with one of the top online MBA programs in Ohio?
Working professionals choose the University of Northwestern Ohio's 100% online Master of Business Administration (MBA) to achieve greater academic and professional success. Our tradition of innovative learning and top faculty with expertise across growing industries are keystones of the UNOH experience.
With UNOH, you can earn an affordable, convenient, 100% online MBA on a unique and flexible schedule — and in as little as 18 months. With the convenience of an online MBA, no GMAT required; the affordable price of $400 per credit hour and no additional cost for textbooks, UNOH proudly boasts one of the most affordable and flexible online MBA programs in Ohio.
Get Started Now
The University of Northwestern Ohio respects your right to privacy. By submitting this form, you consent to receive emails and calls from a representative of the University of Northwestern Ohio, which may include the use of automated technology. Consent is needed to contact you, but is not a requirement to register or enroll.
The online MBA program follows our main campus in its core educational values of:
The University of Northwestern Ohio operates with fairness, objectivity, and honesty in its services to all people. The University leads by example and remains steadfast when challenged.
The University of Northwestern Ohio commits itself to high standards in all areas including educational activities, experiences, and learning outcomes. The University regularly evaluates and improves the quality of its services.
The University of Northwestern Ohio continuously solicits feedback from stakeholders, using the results toward the ongoing pursuit of excellence.
The University of Northwestern Ohio operates with imagination, initiative, and a readiness to undertake new projects and risks. A strong sense of urgency drives its demanding expectations for sustainable growth. The University is alert to the changing needs of its stakeholders and is committed to making agile responses that create value for its clients. The University is a private non-profit institution with an entrepreneurial spirit.
The University of Northwestern Ohio understands the vital role that diversity plays in the pursuit of the University's mission and in preparing students to succeed in a global society.
The University encourages people to make a difference by creating an environment free from barriers, where everyone is encouraged to achieve his/her full potential. The University takes pride in the diversity of its students, faculty, and staff, and it values their contributions.
University of Northwestern Ohio is accredited by the Accreditation Council for Business Schools and Programs (http://www.acbsp.org/), and regionally accredited by the Higher Learning Commission (https://www.hlcommission.org/). UNOH is authorized to offer online MBA programs by the Ohio State Board of Regents.


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LAKEGEORGE-The New York Rural Water Association has selected Village Wastewater Superintendent Reginald Burlingame as their "2011 Friend of Rural Water."
The award is given annually to a member of the organization that has contributed valuable services to the Association and his municipality. The association is a state branch of the national organization devoted to boosting expertise and providing training to meet challenges in providing pure municipal water.
Superintendent Burlingame is to receive the award at the annual technical conference of the Association to be held in Saratoga Springs May 11. This award is the third time Lake George village's superintendent has been honored. Burlingame is completing his 22nd year and is slated to retire in June 2012.
Village Mayor Robert Blais said Burlingame's award was well deserved.
"This honor recognizes Reggie Burlingame's valuable contributions to our municipality and the entire region," he said.


text:
As you may be aware, W&J has a history of excellence in the sciences and is ranked third in the country (per capita) for producing future physicians and medical researchers, including dentists. Our students experience remarkable success in their applications to graduate and professional fields in this area. One reason for this success is the extraordinary opportunity for challenging study and individual research at W&J. If you are interested in pursuing a career in dentistry, W&J will provide you guidance from your first day on campus. Should you later decide that you want to pursue a different career, that is fine, too. At W&J, you get personalized guidance for a pre-health career, but you are not confined to that choice.
Students preparing for admission to graduate schools in dentistry may elect to major in any discipline. If you wish to be recommended to professional schools by the Committee on Health Professions, you should register with the Committee on Health Professions as early as possible, and maintain that registration during your undergraduate career.
To secure a recommendation from the committee, in addition to the requirements of a major, a student must successfully complete 10 to 13 courses in biology, chemistry, mathematics, physics, English, psychology or sociology as designated for their chosen career goals. Visit the Pre-Health Program website for more information.
The College has agreements regarding admission of qualified students (including early assurance) to the Temple University School of Medicine.
At W&J, you will also have access to many of our most successful alumni in the medical field, who can assist you in your career path through mentoring and internships.


text:
Quick Reference
n. an increase in the proportion of immature red blood cells (reticulocytes) in the bloodstream. It is a sign of increased output of new red cells from the bone marrow.
Subjects: Medicine and Health — Chemistry.
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text:
Bruins goalie Tuukka Rask filling big shoes left by Tim Thomas
Johnny Boychuk said a little prayer.
The Boston Bruins defenceman served up what he called "a pizza," to New York Rangers forward Carl Hagelin, a pass right onto Hagelin's stick in the Bruins zone, yet another turnover in an uneven period Sunday for the Bruins.
Boychuk offered up his plea to Bruins goaltender Tuukka Rask.
"C'mon, Tuukka," said Boychuk.
Rask responded, stopping Hagelin's shot and keeping alive the Boston's 3-2 lead at the time in what would turn out to be a 5-2 win for a 2-0 lead in the NHL Eastern Conference semifinal.
Rask made 15 saves in that second period, many of them on Grade A scoring chances off odd-man rushes and turnovers by his teammates.
"That second period, Tuukka made some big saves for us. They outplayed us," said Bruins forward Chris Kelly.
Rask got beat for one goal in that second period – New York's Rick Nash scored his first goal of the playoffs on a break-in – and Rask chastised himself for it. Nash got around Bruins defenceman Zdeno Chara and burst in, beating Rask to the stick side.
Rask tracks opposing players by the tape job on their sticks. After identifying the player, his brain spits out the their tendencies.
"I was riled after that because I thought that it was (Rangers forward Taylor) Pyatt – same kind of tape job – so I wasn't expecting that move," said Rask. "If I had known it was Nash, I probably would have cheated a little blocker.
"But those goals happen and we were able to bounce back."
After working in the shadow of former Bruins goaltender Tim Thomas – who won the Vezina and Conn Smythe trophies along with the Stanley Cup two years ago – Rask has emerged as a worthy replacement. With Thomas self-destructing his career with the Bruins by refusing to go to the White House for a post-Cup celebration in 2012, then taking this season off before being traded to the New York Islanders, the 26-year-old Rask has emerged as a low-maintenance star who is edging toward his prime.
When it comes to the inevitable comparisons with Thomas, Rask accepts it's going to be a talking point.
"Yeah, I don't care. People can think what they want. I'm fine with that," Rask said after making 35 saves in Game 2. "We got to talk about something. I just try not to stir the pot."
Rask entered the post-season with a few question marks hanging over him, but so far he has played well with indications his game is getting even better. After an up-and-down performance against the Toronto Maple Leafs in the opening round – much like the rest of his team – Rask has been good for the Bruins against the Rangers.
He entered these playoffs with a 7-6 record and .912 save percentage in the post-season. He was the goaltender of record when the Bruins blew a 3-0 series lead against the Philadelphia Flyers three years ago, so there was concern about whether he could get the job done in the playoffs.
Then there was the task of having to step out of Thomas' shadow, at least when it compared to the former Bruins' 2011 playoff performance.
Finally, he has been subjected to the inevitable comparisons with New York Rangers goaltender Henrik Lundqvist this series.
Rask is doing just fine on all counts.
The truth is, Rask has fit into the dressing room in a way Thomas never did and as a result these Bruins appear play a little harder for Rask. That's not a knock on Thomas, who had his views and went about his business as he saw fit. There's no arguing his results in the team's Stanley Cup win.
But his act got thin with teammates.
"Everyone loves Tuukka. Not that guys didn't like Timmy," said Kelly. "I don't think I've met a bad Finn. They're all nice guys, well-liked and easy to like. You want to play hard for Tuuks. He plays hard for us. He's just fun to have around."
Bruins tough guy Shawn Thornton is neighbours with Rask and they often ride to the rink together from Charleston, just across the river from TD Garden.
They are good friends and own a boat together, a cabin cruiser they'll take out on a Sunday here and there during the summer.
Thornton said Rask isn't like most of the goaltenders he has known.
"He and I are pretty tight. He's a great team guy," said Thornton. "He's actually not the stereotypical goalie which is a bit of a loaner and they're on their own page. He's quite the opposite. He's very entwined in this lockerroom. He's the ultimate team guy. He puts the team ahead of himself. That's rare in goalies."
Consistency in performance and personality is a pretty good combination.
"When you look around, Tuukka has probably been our most consistent player all year," said Kelly. "Goaltending has never been a worry for us."


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This chapter contains information about deploying Oracle Forms applications to the Web. After you have configured the Forms Server, you can deploy your executable files and broadcast your application's URL. For information about configuring the Forms Server, see Chapter 5, "Configuring the Forms Server".
To deploy a Forms application, take these steps:
You must create the .FMX runtime executable files on the same platform as the application server on which you will deploy them.
For example, if your application server's operating system is Sun Solaris, you must use the Solaris version of the Forms Compiler component to create the .FMX files for deployment on the Web.
To compile .FMX files for the Sun Solaris operating system, use the following f60genm command line:
f60genm module=mymodule.fmb userid=scott/tiger
For more information about the forms compiler options, refer to the online help.
You can deploy your Forms application executables from any directory on your server. This directory must be specified in the FORMS60_PATH environment variable.
To broadcast an application's URL, all you need to do is let your intended users know what it is. Users can contact the URL with their Java-enabled Web browser and run the corresponding application. If you created an HTML page for your application, then the URL you give to users should simply point to that page.
For example, to announce the availability of its new Order Tracking application, ABC Corp. might broadcast the following URL:
Use "https" rather than "http" if you are running in HTTPS mode. (This is optional for Oracle JInitiator.)
ABC's URL consists of the following components:
If you created special configurations in the formsweb.cfg file as described in Section 22.214.171.124, "Creating special configurations in formsweb.cfg", the end-user launches the application as follows:
(for a servlet configuration)
(for a CGI configuration on NT)
If you are using the Forms Servlet implementation, any configuration errors in the formsweb.cfg and FormsServlet.initArgs files are logged to the jserv.log file. This file is located in <ORACLE_HOME>/apache/Jserv/logs.
After you deploy your executable files on the Web server and broadcast the application's URL, you will want to test and optimize your applications from within a Web browser.
Refer to Chapter 7, "Application Design Considerations" for guidelines and tips on designing Forms applications for Web deployment.
Refer to Chapter 11, "Performance Tuning Considerations" for more information about tuning considerations when you deploy an application over the Internet or other network environment using the Forms Server.
Copyright © 2000 Oracle Corporation.
All Rights Reserved.


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After missing another meet due to poor weather conditions on Tuesday at Scott County, the Harrison County track team performed in Maysville Saturday in the Mason County Invitational.
The 17-team event featured schools from Indiana and Ohio as well as the Kentucky teams.
Harrison County shook off the rust nicely as both teams performed well in events which they entered.
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Tuesday night's 3-0 loss was not only Chelsea's heaviest ever in the Champions League group stages but it also left them staring at their first December exit from the competition, costing manager Roberto Di Matteo his job.
Speaking before Di Matteo's departure, goalkeeper Cech said: "This is the most disappointing defeat because this is not a team to stop the campaign in the group stage. That is clear. I hope it is not going to happen."
Chelsea face Barclays Premier League leaders Manchester City on Sunday and Cech added: "If we win that game, we will be right back in the title race and everything will look different.
"This is a crucial four days to prepare the Sunday match against Man City and the whole momentum of the season can twist again."
Cech admitted it was inevitable Di Matteo's job had come under pressure on the back of an alarming slump in form that already had owner Roman Abramovich reaching for the panic button.
Chelsea's captain in the absence of John Terry and Frank Lampard said: "In any kind of sport, if you are going through a period like that, unfortunately the coach is the first person to get under pressure and questioning.
"As a player, you come in the next day, try and prepare yourself and do everything you can to be ready for the next game and what happens around is a club decision."
Insisting he believed Di Matteo was "the right man" for the job, he added: "I have no power to keep the manager or to make the manager leave. That's the thing. I am not part of the board or owner of the club.
"I am a player, so I concentrate on what I can do for the manager and what I can do for the team and for myself. That's all I can do."
Source: PA
Source: PA


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About a year and a half ago, EVGA showed us its first dual-socket motherboard at the Computex show in Taipei, Taiwan. The Classified SR-2 combined dual Xeon sockets with an overclocking-friendly BIOS and gobs of PCI Express x16 slots, setting a new standard for gratuitious enthusiast excess. At CES last week, EVGA outdid itself with the SR-2's natural evolution.
The new SR-X retains the dual-Xeon design of its forebear but swaps that board's LGA1366 sockets for compatibility with Intel's 2011-pin Sandy Bridge-E silicon. Alas, you won't be able to plug a couple of desktop-oriented CPUs like the Core i7-3960X into the SR-X; it's designed for Xeons exclusively. Just two Sandy Bridge-E based Xeons offer plenty of PCI Express 3.0 connectivity, allowing the SR-X to serve its seven expansion slots without tapping the PCIe lanes built into the chipset. EVGA does use a PLX switch chip to split the PCIe 3.0 lanes between the multiple slots, though.
On the chipset front, the board features an "Intel C600" platform hub that looks an awful like what the X79 should have been. See that pair of SAS connectors in the bottom right-hand corner of the board? It seems Intel has resolved the storage-controller issues that left the X79 with no more SATA ports than a run-of-the-mill desktop chipset.
You wouldn't know it from looking at the board, but EVGA was apparently a little pressed for real estate when developing the SR-X. There wasn't quite enough room to hang eight DIMM slots off both CPU sockets, so you'll have to make do with only four slots for one of the CPUs. That's still enough to exploit Sandy Bridge-E's quad memory channels, though.
The SR-X is still three months out, leaving EVGA time to tweak the final design. Already, the board looks like a great blend of workstation horsepower with enthusiast conveniences like USB 3.0 ports, integrated Bluetooth, and a CMOS reset switch in the rear cluster. While it certainly won't be cheap, the SR-X may well be one of the most lusted-after motherboards of the year.


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May 24, 2012 – Mayor Annise Parker has nominated University of Houston Law Center Professor Sandra Guerra Thompson and eight others to serve on the governing board of the proposed Houston Forensic Science Local Government Corporation. Houston City Council is expected to act on the creation of the LGC and confirm its members June 6.
"The people I have selected have varied backgrounds in science, law enforcement, public policy, business and defense of the accused," said Mayor Parker in a released statement. "Their perspective will be invaluable as we proceed forward toward my goal of a crime lab that is truly independent from law enforcement, prosecutors and political influence."
Once approved, the Houston Forensic Science Center LGC will oversee operation of an independent center providing the city and area communities with accurate and timely analysis of forensic evidence and related services.
"I am very excited to have been selected to be on the LGC founding board with such a diverse group of people," Thompson said. "The many cases of wrongful convictions have demonstrated that it is important for scientific and medical assessment in forensic investigations be separate from law enforcement efforts. It's time for a change."
A national expert on criminal law and criminal procedure, Thompson is the director of the Criminal Justice Institute at the UH Law Center and editor of American Justice in the Age of Innocence.