Joanna Baillie

The brave man is not he who feels no fear. For that were stupid and irrational. But he, whose noble read more

The brave man is not he who feels no fear. For that were stupid and irrational. But he, whose noble soul its fears subdues, and bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

Words of affection, howsoe'er express'd,
The latest spoken still are deem'd the best.

Words of affection, howsoe'er express'd,
The latest spoken still are deem'd the best.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
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Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
Still on their dinner turn--
Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home,
And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod,
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Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod,
And sting the luckless foot that presses them?
There are who in the path of social life
Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun,
And sting the soul.