Yea, from the table of my memory
I 'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there.
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act i., Sc. 5
The eyes of memory will not sleep,
Its ears are open still,
And vigils with the past they keep
Against my feeble will.
WHITTIER: _Knight of St. John._
Tho' lost to sight, to mem'ry dear
Thou ever wilt remain.
GEORGE LINLEY: _Song._