Quote

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

Joanna Baillie

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Joanna Baillie
Age: 88 †
Born: 1762
Born: September 11
Died: 1851
Died: February 23
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Joanna Baillie
Moves
Fisher
Boat
Oar
Notes
Parted
Justice
Swiftly
Moving
Chorus
Note
Glides
Shore
Dipping
Soft
Bonnie

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Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.
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The inward sighs of humble penitence Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal'd hymns Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air.
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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
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My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.
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Stand there, damn'd meddling villain, and be silent For if thou utt'rest but a single word, A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I'll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, To bellow with the damn'd!
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Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
Joanna Baillie
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Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.
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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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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.
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She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
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Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.
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O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?
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