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
Note
Glides
Shore
Dipping
Soft
Bonnie
Moves
Fisher
Boat
Oar
Notes
Parted
Justice
Swiftly
Moving
Chorus

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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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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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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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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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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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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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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
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I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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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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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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I am as one Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height, And having gained what to the upcast eye The summit's point appear'd, astonished sees Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, Towering aloft, as distant as before.
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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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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
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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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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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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
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