Maxioms by Joanna Baillie
The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.
The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.
Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek,
Thy crimson moon and azure eye,
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek,
Thy crimson moon and azure eye,
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy!
The tyrant now
Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber
The watch-dog guards his couch, the read more
The tyrant now
Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber
The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend
He now dare trust.
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.
