First Throb of Love.
The first throb of love this fond heart ever knew,
Was implanted, dear Mary, by thee;
And time serves to shew me how lasting and true
That first love, dear Mary, shall be.
Tho' distance may part us, thy memory still
I'll treasure, as miser his gold;
Nor e'er for a moment forget thee, until
This now beating heart shall be cold.
Whatever awaits me, through life's changing scene,
Wherever on earth I may range,
My constant companion throughout will have been
A feeling that never could change.
And so will I love thee, unalter'd, till death
Shall bid me the passion resign;
One name, fondly whisper'd, shall claim my last breath,
And, Mary, that name shall be thine!
A blackguard is a living syringe, filled with dirty water, with which he ever and anon doth defile his betters.
A man should never think once ere he performs a good action; but a thousand times before he does a bad one!
