Then with no throbs of fiery pain,

No cold gradations of decay,

Death broke at once the vital chain,

And freed his soul the nearest way.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Verses on the Death of Mr. Robert Levet. Stanza 9.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,

My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;

Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 7.

And fast by, hanging in a golden chain,

This pendent world, in bigness as a star

Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 1051.

To sigh, yet feel no pain;

To weep, yet scarce know why;

To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): The Blue Stocking.

Oh stay! oh stay!

Joy so seldom weaves a chain

Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain

To break its links so soon.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Fly not yet.

Oft in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone

Now dimmed and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Oft in the Stilly Night.

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 23.

To sigh, yet feel no pain;

To weep, yet scarce know why;

To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): The Blue Stocking.