The hint malevolent, the look oblique,
The obvious satire, or implied dislike,
The sneer equivocal, the harsh reply,
And all the cruel language of the eye;
The artful injury, whose venomed dart
Scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the
heart;

The guarded phrase whose meaning kills, yet
told,

The list'ner wonders how you thought it cold;
These, and a thousand griefs minute as these,
Corrode our comfort and destroy our ease.

HANNAH MORE.

SLEEP.

The innocent sleep:

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

thou

Shalt not escape calumny.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!

O thou, from whose rank breath nor sex can He like the world his ready visits pays

Where fortune smiles; the wretched he for

sakes;

Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe,

And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.

YOUNG.

Sleep! downy sleep! come, close mine eyes,
Tired with beholding vanities;
Sweet slumbers, come and chase away
The toils and follies of the day.
On your soft bosom will I lie,
Forget the world and learn to die.

FLATMAN.

Interval of grateful shade, welcome to my weary head!

Welcome slumbers to my eyes, tired with glaring vanities!

My great Master still allows needful periods

of repose;

By my heavenly Father blest thus I give my powers to rest.

DODDRIDGE.

O thou best comforter of the sad heart,
When fortune's spite assails, come, gentle
Sleep,

The weary mourner soothe! For well the art
Thou know'st, in soft forgetfulness to steep
The eyes which sorrow taught to watch and
weep.
MRS. TIGHE.

Fond words have oft been spoken to thee,
Sleep!

And thou hast had thy store of tenderest
names;

The very sweetest words that fancy frames
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!
Dear bosom child we call thee, that dost steep
In rich reward all suffering; balm that tames
All anguish; saint that evil-thoughts and aims

O sleep! it is a gentle thing, beloved from pole Takest away, and into souls dost creep,
Like to a breeze from heaven.

to pole.

Sleep hath its own world,

COLERIDGE.

SLEEP-SOCIETY-SOLITUDE.

Life may not be without thee, gentle Sleep, Man, like the generous vine, supported lives;

Communion sweet! communion large and If we were not, would seem to smile the less, Of all that flattered, followed, sought and