Quotes from Thomas Haynes Bayly

Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the men propose?

I'm saddest when I sing.

Those that have wealth must be watchful and wary, Power, alas! naught but misery brings!

We met, 'twas in a crowd, and I thought he would shun me.

O pilot! 'tis a fearful night, There's danger on the deep.

Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The holly-branch shone on the old oak wall.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder: Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

I'd be a butterfly born in a bower, Where roses and lilies and violets meet.

The rose that all are praising Is not the rose for me.

I'm saddest when I sing.

Surely 't is better, when summer is over To die when all fair things are fading away.

There is not one familiar face Where many loved me once! I speak aloud--the lonely place Returns no kind response! Where I and others roved, I see Another roving race; Gay smiles are there--but ah! for me, Not one familiar face!

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

The infidel may well despond, When sorrow's tear he sheds, His bosom knows no hope beyond The dust on which he treads.

Fear not, but trust in Providence Wherever thou may'st be.

She smiles at the feast where gay nobles are met, But she thinks of the knight she was told to forget.

My fond affection thou hast seen, Then judge of my regret To think more happy thou hadst been If we had never met.

Oh! virtue knows no hopeless grief, 'Tis sin that must despair; The true believer finds relief In solitary pray'r.

I hate the noon--give me the moon, And dewy nights in May or June.

The canker worm is at work within The fairest of her flowers.

Think of earthly treasure As a thing that cannot last; Oh! judge of future pleasure By the false joys of the past; Thou wilt learn how to disdain All that mortals covet most, Slow to grasp what thou may'st gain, Slow to mourn what thou hast lost.

There's a time when we feel the want of friends, The early one's the best, When love, like a weary bird, descends To find a place of rest; And finds on all the earth not one Familiar spot to rest upon.

They err, who seek in earth or air Similitudes for woman; Or in the sea, for nothing there Is half so good, or half so fair, Her worth is too uncommon, For us to find a simile In all the earth--the air--the sea.