"The time will come, as come again it must, When Lancashire shall lift her head once more; Her suffering sons, now down amid the dust Of Indigence, shall pass through Plenty's door; Her commerce cover seas from shore to shore; Her arts arise to highest eminence; Her products prove unrivall'd, as of yore; Her valour and her virtuemen of sense And blue-eyed beautiesEngland's pride and her defence.

In days of yore (my cautious rhymes Always except the present times)

1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And, scanning right the practices of yore, Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.

In days of yore, no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men, That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth (Our author's song can witness), lived on earth.

Right against the eastern gate, By the moss-grown pile he sate, Where long of yore to sleep was laid The dust of the prophetic maid.

He who can only talk with one, Should stay at home, and talk with none At all events, to strangers, Like village epitaphs of yore, He ought to cry, "Long time I bore," To warn them of their dangers.

In days of yore, Laid wit and lore, And wisdom in the wig; But now the skull Contains them all, The peruke is too big.

Wagner's immortal hope was not even yet dead; as late as 1863 he wrote to Praeger from St. Petersburg: "I would Minna were here with me; we might, in the excitement that now moves fast around me, grow again the quiescent pair of yore.

GALEN says that man has seven bones in the sternum (instead of three); and Sylvius, in reply to Vesalius, contends that "in days of yore the robust chests of heroes had more bones than men now have.

New raptures still hath youth in store: Age may but fondly cherish Half-faded memories of yore Up, craven heart!

Now, in their sunset home on Libya's heel, Phoenicia's sons unwonted chillness feel: Now, with his targe of willow at his breast, The Syracusan bears his spear in rest, Amongst these Hiero arms him for the war, Eager to fight as warriors fought of yore; The plumes float darkling o'er his helmèd brow.

I'll tell you a Fairy Tale that's new: How the merry Elves o'er the ocean flew From the Emerald isle to this far-off shore, As they were wont in the days of yore; And played their pranks one moonlit night, Where the zephyrs alone could see the sight.

The village rings with labor's jocund laugh, The hoyden shout around the school-house door, The old man's voice, as bending o'er his staff, He waxes valiant in the tales of yore: Far tapering spires from teeming cities rise, The sabbath bell comes stealing on the air, A holy anthem seeks the bending skies, And earth and heaven seem fondly blended there!

In days of yore, while yet the world was new, And all around was beautiful to view When spring or summer ruled the happy hours, And golden fruit hung down mid opening flowers; When, if you chanced among the woods to stray, The rosy-footed dryad led the way, Or if, beside a mountain brook, your path, You ever caught some naïad at her bath: 'Twas in that golden day, that Damon strayed.

Perchance some lingering tone is there Some cherished melody of yore.

Here, on the bank, beside this whispering stream, Which still runs by as gayly as of yore, Marking its eddies, I was wont to dream Of things away, on some far fairy shore.

The tinted sea-shell, borne away Far from the ocean's pebbly shore, Still loves to hum the choral lay, The whispering mermaid taught of yore.

Childhood shall find the scene fair, Then here let me cease my complaint; Still shall Health be inhal'd with the Air, Which at Honington cannot be taint: And tho' Age may still talk of the Green, Of the Heath, and free Commons of yore, Youth shall joy in the new-fangled scene, And boast of that change we deplore.

how fatally capricious.... It chanc'd, amidst this humble Feast, A cup of YORKSHIRE DIP was plac'd ... A pudding-sauce well-known of yore, When folks were frugal, though not poor; An olio mixt of sweet and sour.

The mines were in full operation; the bank was being conducted as of yore; the people were happy and confident; the town was fattening on its own flesh; the sun was as merciless and the moon as gentle as in the days of old.

Nimrod the | hunter was | mighty in | hunting, and | famed as the | ruler of | cities of | yore; Babel, and | Erech, and | Accad, and | Calneh, from | Shinar's fair | region his | name afar | bore.

The most applauded scenes in these plays turned upon nice discussions of metaphysical passion, such as in the days of yore were wont to be agitated in the courts and parliaments of love.

As he got near to the place, and passed along the dikes, and looked to the right and left down the droves, and trotted at last over the Folking bridge across the Middle Wash, the country did not seem to him to be so unattractive as of yore; and when he recognised the faces of the neighbours, when one of the tenants spoke to him kindly, and the girls dropped a curtsey as he passed, certain soft regrets began to crop up in his mind.

Duke Casimir continued to move, as of yore, in cavalcade through his subject city.

When you run him off, I draw'd on him, and he'd a been a gone sucker ef't hadn' been fer yore makin' me promise t'other day to hold on tell I'd talked weth you.