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Article SCRIBBLING PAPERS, Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Scribbling Papers,
SCRIBBLING PAPERS ,
BY LITHOURGOS . GREAT A and little B , With lines right , straight , and curve , No interest are to me , But seem a thing absurd . Angles tri , and equal , With circles semi— -whole , Are all in awkward squad With me , by jig by jole .
A gnomon , yclept a gnon , Is quite unknown to me ; And nought can I , I own , Perceive in figure B . Thus when ' er I try A problem to define , The task ' s in vain ! I cry , To one of mortal mind .
DECEMBER . THE cloudy morn portends a gloomy day , And low'ring mists in thick'ning globules lay ; The dingy smoke in circling columns rolls . In concert join'd to darken human souls .
The glorious sun , in gilded splendour ' rray'd , Mounts in his chariot to dissipate the shade ; But smoke and mist in phalanx dense combined , Oppose his course , and intercept his shine .
Thus lags the day , in semblance of the night , Involving all in dubious fitful light , And adding to the waste of nature ' s laws , Makes dreary winter in her progress pause . A gloom chaotic each fleeting hour teems , Till day has gone , and Cynthia darts her beams , At lucid intervals through foggy air , And gives pale lustre to the hyemal drear .
But brief the hours she holds her gentle reign , In this bleak season of sad mental pain , For pitchy darkness quick usurps her sway , And partly triumphs o ' er returning day . So fleet the hours , which count man ' s short-spun life—First comes happiness , then misery and strife ; Each chequer'd year is deck'd with grief and joy , And bliss to man is but a transient toy .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Scribbling Papers,
SCRIBBLING PAPERS ,
BY LITHOURGOS . GREAT A and little B , With lines right , straight , and curve , No interest are to me , But seem a thing absurd . Angles tri , and equal , With circles semi— -whole , Are all in awkward squad With me , by jig by jole .
A gnomon , yclept a gnon , Is quite unknown to me ; And nought can I , I own , Perceive in figure B . Thus when ' er I try A problem to define , The task ' s in vain ! I cry , To one of mortal mind .
DECEMBER . THE cloudy morn portends a gloomy day , And low'ring mists in thick'ning globules lay ; The dingy smoke in circling columns rolls . In concert join'd to darken human souls .
The glorious sun , in gilded splendour ' rray'd , Mounts in his chariot to dissipate the shade ; But smoke and mist in phalanx dense combined , Oppose his course , and intercept his shine .
Thus lags the day , in semblance of the night , Involving all in dubious fitful light , And adding to the waste of nature ' s laws , Makes dreary winter in her progress pause . A gloom chaotic each fleeting hour teems , Till day has gone , and Cynthia darts her beams , At lucid intervals through foggy air , And gives pale lustre to the hyemal drear .
But brief the hours she holds her gentle reign , In this bleak season of sad mental pain , For pitchy darkness quick usurps her sway , And partly triumphs o ' er returning day . So fleet the hours , which count man ' s short-spun life—First comes happiness , then misery and strife ; Each chequer'd year is deck'd with grief and joy , And bliss to man is but a transient toy .