Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace

The day's disasters in his morning face;

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;

Full well the busy whisper circling round

Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.

Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,

The love he bore to learning was in fault;

The village all declar'd how much he knew,

'T was certain he could write and cipher too.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 199.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,

Sister spirit, come away!

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dying Christian to his Soul.

And lives to clutch the golden keys,

To mould a mighty state's decrees,

And shape the whisper of the throne.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): In Memoriam. lxiv. Stanza 3.

Reading what they never wrote,

Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,

And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book ii. The Timepiece. Line 411.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:

At one stride comes the dark;

With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,

Off shot the spectre-bark.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): The Ancient Mariner. Part iii.