Tossed from rock to rock, Incessant bleatings run around the hills. At last, of snowy white, the gathered flocks Are in the wattled pen innumerous pressed, Head above head: and ranged in lusty rows, The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. The Seasons: Summer. J. THOMSON.
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.
Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets, hail!... Delicious is your shelter to the soul, As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling sides Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink. The Seasons: Autumn. J. THOMSON.
A poor sequestered stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish;... ... and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase. As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Cruel as Death, and hungry as the Grave! Burning for blood! bony, and gaunt, and grim! Assembling wolves in raging troops descend; And, pouring o'er the country, bear along, Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy snows. All is their prize. The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.
Infinite riches in a little room. The Jew of Malta, Act i. C. MARLOWE.
Thin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts. Odyssey. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.
My people too were scared with eerie sounds, A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls, A noise of falling weights that never fell, Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand, Door-handles turned when none was at the door, And bolted doors that opened of themselves; And one betwixt the dark and light had seen Her, bending by the cradle of her babe. The Ring. A. TENNYSON.
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us! Cato, Act ii. Sc. 1. J. ADDISON.
Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide. Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, Troop home to churchyards. Midsummer Night's Dream, iii, 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Such was Zuleika! such around her shone The nameless charms unmarked by her alone; The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul. Bride of Abydos, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple; If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Exceeding fair she was not; and yet fair In that she never studied to be fairer Than Nature made her; beauty cost her nothing, Her virtues were so rare. All Fools, Act i. Sc. 1. G. CHAPMAN.
Her glossy hair was clustered o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning. Don Juan, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, The observed of all observers! Hamlet, Act iii Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. Comedy of Errors, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along; Were't not for laughing, I should pity him. K. Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water. Miss Kilmansegg. T. HOOD.
Her pretty feet Like snailes did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at bo-peep, Did soon draw in agen. Upon her Feet. R. HERRICK.
Who the silent man can prize, If a fool he be or wise? Yet, though lonely seem the wood, Therein may lurk the beast of blood; Often bashful looks conceal Tongue of fire and heart of steel; And deem not thou in forest gray, Every dappled skin thy prey, Lest thou rouse, with luckless spear, The tiger for the fallow-deer! The Gulistan. BISHOP HEBER.
HORATIO. I saw him once: he was a goodly king. HAMLET. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
On his bold visage middle age Had slightly pressed his signet sage, Yet had not quenched the open truth, And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire Of hasty love or headlong ire. The Lady of the Lake, Canto I. SIR W. SCOTT.
Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed livery of the burnished sun, To whom I am a neighbor, and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born, Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, And let us make incision for your love, To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. Merchant of Venice, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Incensed with indignation Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burned, That fires the length of Ophiucus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury, New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Ay, every inch a king. King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.
When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection. Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
The hasty multitude Admiring entered, and the work some praise, And some the architect: his hand was known In heaven by many a towered structure high, Where sceptred angels held their residence, And sat as princes. Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
Old houses mended, Cost little less than new, before they're ended. Prologue to the Double Gallant. . C. GIBBER.
The architect Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, And with him toiled his children, and their lives Were builded, with his own, into the walls, As offerings unto God. The Golden Legend, Pt. III. In the Cathedral. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse. He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a Lord may be an owl, A calf an Alderman, a goose a Justice, And rooks, Committee-men or Trustees. Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto I. S. BUTLER.
Reproachful speech from either side The want of argument supplied: They rail, reviled; as often ends The contests of disputing friends. Fables: Sexton and Earth Worm. J. GAY.
Be calm in arguing; for fierceness makes Error a fault, and truth discourtesy. The Temple: The Church Porch. C. HERBERT.
In argument Similes are like songs in love; They must describe; they nothing prove. Alma, Canto III. M. PRIOR.
One single positive weighs more, You know, than negatives a score. Epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd. M. PRIOR.
Who shall decide, when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me? Moral Essays, Epistle III. A. POPE.
How vain are all hereditary honors, Those poor possessions from another's deeds. Parricide. J. SHIRLEY.
He lives to build, not boast, a generous race; No tenth transmitter of a foolish face. The Bastard. R. SAVAGE.
Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die, But leave us still our old nobility. England's Trust, Pt. III. LORD J. MANNERS.
Whoe'er amidst the sons Of reason, valor, liberty, and virtue, Displays distinguished merit, is a noble Of Nature's own creating. Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 3. J. THOMSON.
Fond man! though all the heroes of your line Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine In proud display; yet take this truth from me— Virtue alone is true nobility! Satire VIII. JUVENAL. Trans. of GIFFORD.
Boast not the titles of your ancestors, brave youth! They're their possessions, none of yours. Catiline. B. JONSON.
Nobler is a limited command Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark. Absalom and Achitophel, I. J. DRYDEN.
As though there were a tie, And obligation to posterity! We get them, bear them, breed and nurse. What has posterity done for us, That we, lest they their rights should lose, Should trust our necks to gripe of noose? McFingal, Canto II J. TRUMBULL.
They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, Produce their debt, instead of their discharge. Love of Fame, Satire I. DR. E. YOUNG.
Few sons attain the praise of their great sires, and most their sires disgrace. Odyssey, Bk. II. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.
He stands for fame on his forefather's feet, By heraldry, proved valiant or discreet I Love of Fame, Satire I. DR. E. YOUNG.
Great families of yesterday we show, And lords whose parents were the Lord knows who. The True-Born Englishman, Pt. I. D. DEFOE.
For Art is Nature made by Man To Man the interpreter of God. The Artist. LORD LYTTON (Owen Meredith).
In the elder days of Art. Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the gods see everywhere. The Builders. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize, And to be swift is less than to be wise. 'Tis more by art, than force of numerous strokes. Iliad, Bk. XXIII. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. Retaliation (Sir Joshua Reynolds). O. GOLDSMITH.
Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power whose fame Is wide as human thought. Raphael. J.G. WHITTIER.
Oh! could I throw aside these earthly bands That tie me down where wretched mortals sigh— To join blest spirits in celestial lands! To Laura in Death. PETRARCH.
Happy the heart that keeps its twilight hour, And, in the depths of heavenly peace reclined, Loves to commune with thoughts of tender power,— Thoughts that ascend, like angels beautiful, A shining Jacob's ladder of the mind! Sonnet IX. P.H. HAYNE.
The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow. To ——: One word is too often profaned. P.B. SHELLEY.
I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. In Memoriam, I. A. TENNYSON.
The rule Of the many is not well. One must be chief In war and one the king. Iliad, Bk. II. HOMER. Trans. of BRYANT.
Authority intoxicates, And makes mere sots of magistrates; The fumes of it invade the brain, And make men giddy, proud, and vain. Miscellaneous Thoughts. S. BUTLER.
Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar, And the creature run from the cur: There, There, thou might'st behold the great image of authority; A dog's obeyed in office. King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.
O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! Much Ado about Nothing, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. Don Juan, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
Habits of close attention, thinking heads, Become more rare as dissipation spreads, Till authors hear at length one general cry Tickle and entertain us, or we die! Retirement. W. COWPER.
The unhappy man, who once has trailed a pen, Lives not to please himself, but other men; Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood, Yet only eats and drinks what you think good. Prologue to Lee's Caesar Borgia. J. DRYDEN.
Lest men suspect your tale untrue Keep probability in view. The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, The credit of his book confounds. The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody. J. GAY.
Immodest words admit of no defence. For want of decency is want of sense.
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But foul descriptions are offensive still, Either for being like or being ill. Essay on Translated Verse. EARL OF BOSCOMMON.
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay, 't is past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot: Prologue to the Satires. A. POPE.
Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipped me in ink,—my parents', or my own! Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot: Prologue to the Satires. A. POPE.
And so I penned It down, until at last it came to be. For length and breadth, the highness which you see. Pilgrim's Progress: Apology for his Book. J. BUNYAN.
None but an author knows an author's cares, Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. The Progress of Error. W. COWPER.
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic. I must paint it. Moral Essays, Epistle II. A. POPE.
"You write with ease, to show your breeding, But easy writing's curst hard reading." Olio's Protest. R.B. SHERIDAN.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 'T is not enough no harshness gives offence; The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore. The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw The line too labors, and the words move slow; Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
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Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song. That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Essay on Criticism, Part II. A. POPE.
Abstruse and mystic thought you must express With painful care, but seeming easiness; For truth shines brightest thro' the plainest dress. Essay on Translated Verse. W. DILLON.
It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century. Incident in a Railroad Car. J.R. LOWELL.
E'en copious Dryden wanted, or forgot, The last and greatest art—the art to blot. Horace, Bk. II. Epistle I. A. POPE.
Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to thee: Take heed, and ponder well, what that shall be. Morituri Salutamus. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
A sweet, new blossom of Humanity, Fresh fallen from God's own home to flower on earth. Wooed and Won. G. MASSEY.
The hair she means to have is gold, Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old, Plump are her fists and pinky. She fluttered down in lucky hour From some blue deep in yon sky bower— I call her "Little Dinky." Little Dinky. F. LOCKER-LAMPSON.
As living jewels dropped unstained from heaven. Course of Time, Bk. V. R. POLLOK.
God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. Romeo and Juliet, Act i. So. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving: Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting! The Gypsy's Malison. C. LAMB.
Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darkened air.
Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's woe, and Randoer's bane. The Fatal Sisters. T. GRAY.
Wheel the wild dance, While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud; And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. The Dance of Death. SIR W. SCOTT.
He made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, And that it was great pity, so it was, That villanous saltpetre should be digged Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed. K. Henry IV., Pt. I. Act i. Sc.3 SHAKESPEARE.
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery. Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
From the glittering staff unfurled Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanced, Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich imblazed, Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host upsent A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war. Alexander the Great, Act iv. Sc. 2. N. LEE.
That voice ... heard so oft In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge Of battle when it raged. Paradise Lost, Bk. 1. MILTON.
Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 8. SHAKESPEARE.
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, And pass them current too. God's me, my horse! King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Never be it said That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard. Hence, babbling dreams; you threaten here in vain; Conscience, avaunt, Richard's himself again! Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds. To horse! away! My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray. Shakespeare's Richard III. (Altered), Act. v. Sc. 3. C. GIBBER.
Is she not passing fair? Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
And she is fair, and fairer than that word. Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet. Cymon and Iphigenia. J. DRYDEN.
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear. Romeo and Juliet, Act i. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
A rosebud set with little wilful thorns. And sweet as English air could make her, she. The Princess. A. TENNYSON.
Thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Yet I'll not shed her blood; Nor soar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster. Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
No longer shall thy bodice, aptly laced. From thy full bosom to thy slender waist, That air and harmony of shape express, Fine by degrees, and beautifully less. Henry and Emma. M. PRIOR.
The beautiful are never desolate; But some one always loves them—God or man. If man abandons, God himself takes them. Festus: Sc. Water and Wood. P.J. BAILEY.
There's nothing that allays an angry mind So soon as a sweet beauty. The Elder Brother, Act iii. Sc. 5. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
The beautiful seems right By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong Because of weakness. Aurora Leigh. E.B. BROWNING.
How near to good is what is fair, Which we no sooner see, But with the lines and outward air Our senses taken be. We wish to see it still, and prove What ways we may deserve; We court, we praise, we more than love, We are not grieved to serve. Love Freed from Ignorance and Folly. B. JONSON.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
A daughter of the gods, divinely tall. And most divinely fair. A Dream of Fair Women. A. TENNYSON.
Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded. But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss. Unsavory in th' enjoyment of itself: If you let slip time, like a neglected rose, It withers on the stalk with languished head. Comus. MILTON.
Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self. The Seasons: Autumn. J. THOMSON.
In beauty, faults conspicuous grow; The smallest speck is seen on snow. Fables: Peacock, Turkey, and Goose. J. GAY.
The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals: Gives but a glimpse, and fancy draws Whate'er the Grecian Venus was. The Spider and the Bee. E. MOORE.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly; A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud; A brittle glass that 's broken presently; A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. The Passionate Pilgrim. SHAKESPEARE.
Tuned be its metal mouth alone To things eternal and sublime. And as the swift-winged hours speed on May it record the flight of time! Song of the Bell. F. SCHILLER. Trans. E.A. BOWRING.
The bells themselves are the best of preachers, Their brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets under the Law, Now a sermon and now a prayer. Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. III. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
And the Sabbath bell, That over wood and wild and mountain dell Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy With sounds most musical, most melancholy. Human Life. S. ROGERS.
Sweet Sunday bells! your measured sound Enhances the repose profound Of all these golden fields around, And range of mountain, sunshine-drowned. Sunday Bells. W. ALLINGHAM.
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and Clashing, clanging to the pavement Hurl them from their windy tower! Christus: The Golden Legend. Prologue. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office, and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remembered tolling a departing friend. K. Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
My Book and Heart Must never part. New England Primer.
Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries!
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And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. The Monastery. SIR W. SCOTT.
God, in the gospel of his Son, Makes his eternal counsels known; 'Tis here his richest mercy shines, And truth is drawn in fairest lines. The Glory of the Scriptures. B. BEDDOME.
Holy Bible, book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine; Mine to tell me whence I came, Mine to teach me what I am.
Mine to chide me when I rove, Mine to show a Saviour's love; Mine art thou to guide my feet, Mine to judge, condemn, acquit. Holy Bible, Book Divine. J. BURTON.
The heavens declare thy glory, Lord; In every star thy wisdom shines; But when our eyes behold thy word, We read thy name in fairer lines. God's Word and Works. DR. I. WATTS.
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true. Truth. W. COWPER.
A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun, It gives a light to every age, It gives, but borrows none. Olney Hymns. W. COWPER.
Starres are poore books, and oftentimes do misse; This book starres lights to eternal blisse. The Church: The Holy Scriptures, Pt. II. G. HERBERT.
Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! Tales of a Wayside Inn: The Poet's Tale. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
I shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau If birds confabulate or no. 'T is clear that they were always able To hold discourse—at least in fable. Pairing Time Anticipated. W. COWPER.
The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove: Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze Poured out profusely, silent. Joined to these, Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert: while the stock-dove breathes A melancholy murmur through the whole. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away? Flight of Birds. E.C. STEDMAN.
The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight. Spring. O.W. HOLMES.
One day in the bluest of summer weather, Sketching under a whispering oak, I heard five bobolinks laughing together, Over some ornithological joke. Bird Language. C.P. CRANCH.
Sing away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird. Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung nor heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes in a narrow cage. The Canary in his Cage. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.
The cook, that is the trumpet to the morn. Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat A wake the god of day. Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Bird of the broad and sweeping wing, Thy home is high in heaven, Where wide the storms their banners fling. And the tempest clouds are driven. To the Eagle. J.G. PERCIVAL.
Where, the hawk, High in the beetling cliff, his aery builds. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
And the, humming-bird that hung Like a jewel up among The tilted honeysuckle horns They mesmerized and swung In the palpitating air, Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away And left him hanging there. The South Wind and the Sun. J.W. RILEY.
"Most musical, most melancholy" bird! A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. The Nightingale. S.T. COLERIDGE.
Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. Evangeline, Pt. II. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. The Village Curate. J. HURDIS.
The merry lark he soars on high, No worldly thought o'ertakes him. He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him. Song. H. COLERIDGE.
What bird so sings, yet so does wail? O, 'tis the ravished nightingale— Jug, jug, jug, jug—tereu—she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? None but the lark so shrill and clear, Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark! but what a pretty note, Poor Robin-redbreast tunes his throat; Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing "Cuckoo!" to welcome in the spring. Alexander and Campaspe, Act v. Sc. 1. JOHN LYLY.
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,
* * * * *
Portend success in love. To the Nightingale. MILTON.
O honey-throated warbler of the grove! That in the glooming woodland art so proud Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud, Thou dost not own a note we do not love. To the Nightingale. C.T. TURNER.
Lend me your song, ye Nightingales! O, pour The mazy-running soul of melody Into my varied verse. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection. Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed. Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. The White Devil, Act v. Sc. 2. J. WEBSTER.
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day! Poor Robin. W. WORDSWORTH.
The swallow twitters about the eaves; Blithely she sings, and sweet and clear; Around her climb the woodbine leaves In a golden atmosphere. The Swallow C. THAXTER.
The stately-sailing swan Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale; And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Rears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle, Protective of his young. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
Blessings star forth forever; but a curse Is like a cloud—it passes. Festus: Sc. Hades. P.J. BAILEY.
To heal divisions, to relieve the oppressed, In virtue rich; in blessing others, blessed. Odyssey, Bk. VII. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.
Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed, Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes Expanded, shine with azure, green, and gold; How blessings brighten as they take their flight! Night Thoughts, Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.
In the nine heavens are eight Paradises; Where is the ninth one? In the human breast. Only the blessed dwell in the Paradises, But blessedness dwells in the human breast. Oriental Poetry: The Ninth Paradise. W.R. ALGER.
Who has not seen that feeling born of flame Crimson the cheek at mention of a name? The rapturous touch of some divine surprise Flash deep suffusion of celestial dyes: When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed And the heart's secret was at once confessed? The Microcosm: Man. A. COLES.
By noting of the lady I have marked A thousand blushing apparitions start Into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes. Much Ado About Nothing, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks, Ten thousand little loves and graces spring To revel in the roses. Tamerlane, Act i. Sc. 1. N. ROWE.
While mantling on the maiden's cheek, Young roses kindled into thought. Evenings in Greece: Evening II. Song. T. MOORE.
The rising blushes, which her cheek o'erspread, Are opening roses in the lily's bed. Dione, Act ii. Sc. 3. J. GAY.
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, Half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, And flare up bodily, wings and all. Aurora Leigh. E.B. BROWNING.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute. Night Thoughts, Night VII. DR. E. YOUNG.
Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at Saint Ann's our parting hymn; Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past! A Canadian Boat Song. T. MOORE.
And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. Bermudas. A. MARVELL.
Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note, Soft moves the dipping oar! Oh, Swiftly glides the Bonnie Boat. J. BAILLIE.
Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. Essay on Man, Epistle III. A. POPE.
On the great streams the ships may go About men's business to and fro. But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep On crystal waters ankle-deep: I, whose diminutive design, Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine, Is fashioned on so frail a mould, A hand may launch, a hand withhold: I, rather, with the leaping trout Wind, among lilies, in and out; I, the unnamed, inviolate. Green, rustic rivers navigate. The Canoe Speaks. R.L. STEVENSON.
Row us forth! Unfurl thy sail! What care we for tempest blowing? Let us kiss the blustering gale! Let us breast the waters flowing! Though the North rush cold and loud, Love shall warm and make us merry; Though the waves all weave a shroud, We will dare the Humber ferry! The Humber Ferry. B.W. PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good; Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow. Personal Talk. W. WORDSWORTH.
Silent companions of the lonely hour, Friends, who can alter or forsake. Who for inconstant roving have no power, And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take. To My Books. MRS. C. NORTON.
Some books are drenched sands, On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, Like a wrecked argosy. A Life Drama. ALEX. SMITH.
Worthy books Are not companions—they are solitudes: We lose ourselves in them and all our cares. Festus: Sc. A Village Feast. Evening. P.J. BAILEY.
'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.
Golden volumes! richest treasures, Objects of delicious pleasures! You my eyes rejoicing please, You my hands in rapture seize! Brilliant wits and musing sages, Lights who beamed through many ages! Left to your conscious leaves their story, And dared to trust you with their glory; And now their hope of fame achieved, Dear volumes! you have not deceived! Curiosities of Literature. Libraries. I. DISRAELI.
That place that does contain My books, the best companions, is to me A glorious court, where hourly I converse With the old sages and philosophers. The Elder Brother, Act i. Sc. 2. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
Who goeth a-borrowing, Goeth a-sorrowing. Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry. June's Abstract. T. TUSSER.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
It is a very good world to live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in; But to beg or to borrow, or to get a man's own, It is the very worst world that ever was known. Attributed to EARL OF ROCHESTER.
O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure! King John, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing, And mischief-making monkey from his birth. Don Juan, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
A little bench of heedless bishops here, And there a chancellor in embryo. The Schoolmistress. W. SHENSTONE.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time Shall draw this brief unto as large a volume. King John, Act ii. Sc 1. SHAKESPEARE.
O, 'tis a parlous boy; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable; He is all the mother's from the top to toe. Richard III., Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy mother. Love's Cure, Act ii. Sc. 2. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
But strive still to be a man before your mother. Motto of No. III. Connoisseur. W. COWPER.
When one is past, another care we have; Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave. Sorrows Succeed. R. HERRICK.
Old Care has a mortgage on every estate, And that's what you pay for the wealth that you get. Gifts of the Gods. J.G. SAXE.
O polished perturbation! golden care! That keepest the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! K. Henry IV., Pt. II. Act iv. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Let one unceasing, earnest prayer Be, too, for light,—for strength to bear Our portion of the weight of care, That crushes into dumb despair One half the human race. The Goblet of Life. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Let the world slide, let the world go: A fig for care, and a fig for woe! If I can't pay, why I can owe, And death makes equal the high and low. Be Merry Friends. J. HEYWOOD.
Begone, dull Care, I prithee begone from me; Begone, dull Care, thou and I shall never agree. Begone, Old Care. PLAYFORD'S Musical Companion.
That power Which erring men call Chance. Comus. MILTON.
Chance will not do the work—Chance sends the breeze; But if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port May dash us on the shelves.—The steersman's part is vigilance, Blow it or rough or smooth. Fortunes of Nigel. SIR w. SCOTT.
I shall show the cinders of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance. Antony and Cleopatra, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And grasps the skirts of happy chance. And breasts the blows of circumstance. In Memoriam, LXIII. A. TENNYSON.
You'll see that, since our fate is ruled by chance, Each man, unknowing, great, Should frame life so that at some future hour Fact and his dreamings meet. To His Orphan Grandchildren. V. HUGO.
Weep not that the world changes—did it keep A stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep. Mutation. W.C. BRYANT.
Manners with fortunes, humors turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times. Moral Essays, Epistle I. Pt. II. A. POPE.
As hope and fear alternate chase Our course through life's uncertain race. Rokeby, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.
This world is not for aye, nor 't is not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late. Faerie Queene, Bk. III. Canto IX. E. SPENSER.
Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw! Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge, another bears. To Men of England. P.B. SHELLEY.
The flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies: What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. Mutability. P.B. SHELLEY.
Sometimes an hour of Fate's serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams; Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams. Ad Amicos. B. TAYLOR.
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars; The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers. The Excursion, Bk. IX. W. WORDSWORTH.
'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind. Sonnet XXXV. W. WORDSWORTH.
Who will not mercie unto others show, How can he mercie ever hope to have? Faerie Queene, Bk. VI. E. SPENSER.
Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see! What shall I render to my God For all his gifts to me? Divine Songs. DR. T. WATTS.
In Faith and Hope the world will disagree, But all mankind's concern is charity. Essays on Man, Epistle III. A. POPE.
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame. Epilogue to Satires, Dial. I. A. POPE.
True charity makes others' wants their own. Poor Man's Comfort. R. DABORNE.
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity. King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
O chime of sweet Saint Charity, Peal soon that Easter morn When Christ for all shall risen be, And in all hearts new-born! That Pentecost when utterance clear To all men shall be given. When all shall say My Brother here, And hear My Son in heaven! Godminster Chimes. J.R. LOWELL.
Charity itself fulfils the law, And who can sever love from charity? Love's Labor's Lost. SHAKESPEARE.
That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives but nothing gives; Whom none can love, whom none can thank, Creation's blot, creation's blank. When Jesus Dwelt. T. GIBBONS.
A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure. Of Education. M.F. TUPPER.
Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw. Essay on Man, Epistle II. A. POPE.
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candlelight, In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. Bed in Summer. R.L. STEVENSON.
Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. To a Butterfly. W. WORDSWORTH.
When they are young, they Are like bells rung backwards, nothing but noise And giddiness. Wit without Money. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
A truthful page is childhood's lovely face, Whereon sweet Innocence has record made,— An outward semblance of the young heart's grace, Where truth, and love, and trust are all portrayed. On a Picture of Lillie. B.P. SHILLABER.
And the King with his golden sceptre, The Pope with Saint Peter's key, Can never unlock the one little heart That is opened only to me. For I am the Lord of a Realm, And I am Pope of a See; Indeed I'm supreme in the kingdom That is sitting, just now, on my knee. The King and The Pope. C.H. WEBB.
Now I lay me down to take my sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep: If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. New England Primer.
And children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe. Lady of the Lake, Canto II. SIR W. SCOTT.
Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. To a Butterfly. W. WORDSWORTH.
Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixtures of more happy days! Beppo. LORD BYRON.
They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet. Cymbeline, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Men are but children of a larger growth. All for Love, Act iv. Sc. 1. J. DRYDEN.
The childhood shows the man As morning shows the day. Paradise Regained, Bk. IV. MILTON.
O most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem! With dazzling pomp descending angels sung Good-will and peace to men, to God due praise. The Microcosm and Other Poems. A. COLES.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease; Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! A Christmas Carmen. J.G. WHITTIER.
Oh, come, all ye faithful! Triumphantly sing! Come, see in the manger The angels' dread King! To Bethlehem hasten With joyful accord; Oh, hasten, oh, hasten, To worship the Lord! Christmas Day. Unknown Latin Author. Trans. of E. CASWELL.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day. The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray, When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day. A Christmas Carol. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.
Now thrice-welcome Christmas, which brings us good cheer. Minced pies and plum porridge, good ale and strong beer, With pig, goose, and capon, the best that may be,— So well doth the weather and our stomachs agree.... But those on whose tables no victuals appear, O, may they keep Lent all the rest of the year! Poor Robin's Almanack, 1695.
Lord of the worlds above, How pleasant and how fair The dwellings of thy love. Thine earthly temples, are! To thine abode My heart aspires, With warm desires To see my God. The House of God. W. COWPER.
"What is a church?" Let Truth and Reason speak, They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek, From Christian folds, the one selected race, Of all professions, and in every place." The Borough, Letter II. G. CRABBE.
Spires whose "silent fingers point to heaven." The Excursion, Bk. VI, W. Wordsworth.
I love thy church, O God: Her walls before thee stand, Dear as the apple of thine eye, And graven on thy hand.
* * * * *
For her my tears shall fall, For her my prayers ascend; To her my cares and toils be given, Till toils and cares shall end. Love to the Church. T. Dwight.
As some to Church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. Essay on Criticism. A. Pope.
Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name. Moral Essays, Epistle III. A. Pope.
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain. The Garden, Essay V. A. Cowley.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture. Childe Harold, Canto III. Lord Byron.
The people are the city. Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 1. Shakespeare.
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-hemmed Manhattan? River and sunset and scallop-edged waves of flood-tide? The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter? Crossing Brooklyn Ferry. W. Whitman.
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head—and there is London Town, Don Juan, Canto X. Lord Byron.
On the AEgean shore a city stands, Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil, Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits, Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades; See there the olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long. Paradise Regained, Bk. IV. MILTON.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand; A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles. Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles! Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more. And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
O Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires!
* * * * *
The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart. The Timepiece: The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to Heaven, Whilst, like a puffed and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Wel ought a prest ensample for to yive, By his clennesse, how that his sheep shulde lyve.
* * * * *
To draw folk to heven by fairnesse By good ensample, this was his busynesse. Canterbury Tales: Prologue. CHAUCER.
Of right and wrong he taught Truths as refined as ever Athens heard; And (strange to tell!) he practised what he preached. Art of Preserving Health J. ARMSTRONG.
By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven. Michael Angelo, Pt. II. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast. And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire. In Memoriam, XV. A. TENNYSON.
The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool, Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
A step, A single step, that freed me from the skirts Of the blind vapor, opened to my view Glory beyond all glory ever seen By waking sense or by the dreaming soul! The appearance, instantaneously disclosed Was of a mighty city,—boldly say A wilderness of building, sinking far And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth, Far sinking into splendor,—without end! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, With alabaster domes, and silver spires, And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright, In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars,—illumination of all gems! The Excursion, Bk. II. W. WORDSWORTH.
See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! Christus: The Golden Legend. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Dear little head, that lies in calm content Within the gracious hollow that God made In every human shoulder, where He meant Some tired head for comfort should be laid. Song. C. THAXTER.
Men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel. Much Ado About Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When Prayer is of no avail? Force of Prayer. W. WORDSWORTH.
And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! As You, Like It, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing, Hope, and comfort from above; Let us each, thy peace possessing, Triumph in redeeming love. Benediction. R.S. HAWKER.
Current among men, Like coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. The Princess, Pt. II. A. TENNYSON.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars. Faustus. C. MARLOWE.
The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid. To a Lady; with a Present of Flowers. T. TICKELL.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun. Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade. Sonnet XVIII. SHAKESPEARE.
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray! The Bride of Abydos, Canto II. LORD BYRON.
Those curious locks so aptly twined Whose every hair a soul doth bind. Think not 'cause men flattering say. T. CAREW.
And beauty draws us with a single hair. Rape of the Lock, Canto II. A. POPE.
When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that. Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Some asked me where the Rubies grew, And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarrie of Pearls. R. HERRICK.
Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones,—Come and buy; If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer, there, Where my Julia's lips do smile, There's the land, or cherry-isle. Cherry Ripe. R. HERRICK.
Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel; Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle. Soliloquy on a Beauty in the Country. LORD LYTTLETON.
Banish all compliments but single truth. Faithful Shepherdess. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
What honor that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies. Paradise Regained. MILTON.
'Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was called compliment. Twelfth Night, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, yet each believes his own. Essay on Criticism, Pt. I. A. POPE.
To observations which ourselves we make, We grow more partial for the observer's sake. Moral Essays, Epistle I. A. POPE.
In men this blunder still you find, All think their little set mankind. Florio, Pt. I. HANNAH MORE.
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God. The Island, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend, Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend; But if he will thy friendly checks forego, Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe! Struggles of Conscience. G. CRABBE.
Conscience is harder than our enemies, Knows more, accuses with more nicety. Spanish Gypsy. GEORGE ELIOT.
Of a' the ills that flesh can fear, The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear, A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear, A lassie's nonsense— There's just ae thing I cannae bear, An' that's my conscience. My Conscience. R.L. STEVENSON.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. K. Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Why should not Conscience have vacation As well as other courts o' th' nation? Have equal power to adjourn, Appoint appearance and return? Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto II. S. BUTLER.
Soft, I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! K. Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Let his tormentor conscience find him out. Paradise Regained, Bk. IV. MILTON.
Speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind: The thief doth fear each bush an officer. K. Richard II., Act v. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.
Leave her to Heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Consideration, like an angel, came And whipped the offending Adam out of him. K. Henry V., Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
True, conscious Honor is to feel no sin, He's armed without that's innocent within; Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of Brass. First Book of Horace, Epistle I. A. POPE.
I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities; A still and quiet conscience. K. Henry VIII., Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
A quiet conscience makes one so serene! Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. Don Juan, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my Great Task-Master's eye. On being arrived at his Three-and-Twentieth Year. MILTON.
And sure the eternal Master found His single talent well employed. Verses on Robert Levet. DR. S. JOHNSON.
With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb! To my Friend on the Death of his Sister. J.G. WHITTIER.
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. Evangeline. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Sprinkled along the waste of years Full many a soft green isle appears: Pause where we may upon the desert road, Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode. The Christian Year. The First Sunday in Advent. J. KEBLE.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again. Endymion. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Love is indestructible: Its holy flame forever burneth: From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
* * * * *
It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time of Love is there. Curse of Kehama, Canto X. R. SOUTHEY.
O heaven! were man But constant, he were perfect. That one error Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act v. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
They sin who tell us Love can die: With Life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. Curse of Kehama, Canto X. R. SOUTHEY.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love. Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith. Julius Caesar, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
You say to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long. Love me little, love me long. R. HERRICK.
When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true. Reasons for Constancy. SIR C. SEDLEY.
If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved. Twelfth Night, Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
I could be well moved if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me; But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. Julius Caesar, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Happy the man, of mortals happiest he, Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free; Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment, But lives at peace, within himself content; In thought, or act, accountable to none But to himself, and to the gods alone. Epistle to Mrs. Higgons. LORD LANSDOWNE.
Yes! in the poor man's garden grow, Far more than herbs and flowers, Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And joy for weary hours. The Poor Man's Garden. M. HOWITT.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbor with himself. Essay on Man, Epistle II. A. POPE.
Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Othello, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
From labor health, from health contentment spring; Contentment opes the source of every joy. The Minstrel, Bk. I. J. BEATTIE.
What happiness the rural maid attends, In cheerful labor while each day she spends! She gratefully receives what Heaven has sent, And, rich in poverty, enjoys content. Rural Sports, Canto II. J. GAY.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content; A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. K. Henry VI., Pt. III. Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Shut up In measureless content. Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind. The Odyssey, Bk. XV. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.
With good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat where'er I come, Whate'er the subject be that starts. But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue to tell the truth And keep my breath to cool my broth. Careless Content. LORD BYRON.
But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. Conversation. W. COWPER.
In general those who nothing have to say Contrive to spend the longest time in doing it. An Oriental Apologue. J.R. LOWELL.
There's nothing in this world can make me joy. Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. King John, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Think all you speak; but speak not all you think: Thoughts are your own; your words are so no more. Epigram. H. DELAUNE.
Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign. Conversation. W. COWPER.
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth. Marmion, Canto II. SIR W. SCOTT.
They never taste who always drink; They always talk who never think. Upon a Passage in the Scaligerana. M. PRIOR.
And, when you stick on conversation's burrs, Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful urs. Urania. O.W. HOLMES.
KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. King Richard III., Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
O, many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken! Lord of the Isles, Canto V. SIR W. SCOTT.
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain. Love's Labor's Lost, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
In his brain— Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage—he hath strange places crammed With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. As You Like it, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And I oft have heard defended, Little said is soonest mended. The Shepherd's Hunting. G. WITHER.
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear. Venus and Adonis. SHAKESPEARE.
Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished, So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Love's Labor's Lost, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Or light or dark, or short or tall, She sets a springe to snare them all: All's one to her—above her fan She'd make sweet eyes at Caliban. Quatrains. Coquette. T.B. ALDRICH.
Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No." And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing. Don Juan, Canto XII. LORD BYRON.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave, Till heart and body and life are in its hold. Lilith. D.G. ROSSETTI.
How happy could I be with either, Were t' other dear charmer away! But while ye thus tease me together, To neither a word will I say. Beggar's Opera, Act ii. Sc. 2. J. GAY.
Ye belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things, Who trip in this frolicsome round, Pray tell me from whence this impertinence springs, The sexes at once to confound? Song for Ranelagh. P. WHITEHEAD.
America! half brother of the world! With something good and bad of every laud. Festus: Sc. The Surface. P.J. BAILEY.
Hail Columbia! happy land! Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won! Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies. Firm—united—let us be, Rallying round our liberty: As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find. Hail Columbia. J. HOPKINSON.
Around I see The powers that be; I stand by Empire's primal springs; And princes meet In every street, And hear the tread of uncrowned kings!
* * * * *
Not lightly fall Beyond recall The written scrolls a breath can float; The crowning fact The kingliest act Of Freedom is the freeman's vote! The Eve of Election. J.G. WHITTIER.
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep Into a world unknown,—the corner-stone of a nation! Courtship of Miles Standish. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
They love their land because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty. Connecticut. F-G. HALLECK.
How has New England's romance fled, Even as a vision of the morning! Its right foredone,—its guardians dead,— Its priestesses, bereft of dread, Waking the veriest urchin's scorning!
* * * * *
And now our modern Yankee sees Nor omens, spells, nor mysteries; And naught above, below, around,
Of life or death, of sight or sound, Whate'er its nature, form, or look, Excites his terror or surprise,— All seeming to his knowing eyes Familiar as his "catechize," Or "Webster's Spelling-Book." A New England Legend. J.G. WHITTIER.
Long as thine Art shall love true love, Long as thy Science truth shall know, Long as thine Eagle harms no Dove, Long as thy Law by law shall grow, Long as thy God is God above, Thy brother every man below,— So long, dear Land of all my love, Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow! Centennial Meditation of Columbia: 1876. S. LANIER.
His home!—the Western giant smiles, And turns the spotty globe to find it;— This little speck the British Isles? 'Tis but a freckle,—never mind it. A Good Time Going. O.W. HOLMES.
O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart. King Henry V., Act ii. Chorus. SHAKESPEARE.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war: This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea. Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
England! my country, great and free! Heart of the world, I leap to thee! Festus: Sc. The Surface. P.J. BAILEY.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung Of earth's first blood, have titles manifold. National Independence, Sonnet XVI. W. WORDSWORTH.
Heaven (that hath placed this island to give law To balance Europe, and her states to awe,) In this conjunction doth on Britain smile, The greatest leader, and the greatest isle! Whether this portion of the world were rent, By the rude ocean, from the continent, Or thus created; it was sure designed To be the sacred refuge of mankind. To My Lord Protector. E. WALLER.
This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. King John, Act v. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where freedom broadens slowly down, From precedent to precedent:
Where faction seldom gathers head: But, by degrees to fulness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread. The Land of Lands. A. TENNYSON.
Broad-based upon her people's will, And compassed by the inviolate sea. To the Queen. A. TENNYSON.
O Caledonia! stern and wild. Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood. Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand! Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.
Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots Frae Maiden Kirk to Johnny Groat's. On Capt. Grose's Peregrinations Thro' Scotland. R. BURNS.
As when the sea breaks o'er its bounds, And overflows the level grounds, Those banks and dams that, like a screen Did keep it out, now keep it in. Hudibras. S. BUTLER.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad Ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. While the pent Ocean, rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile; The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, A new creation rescued from his reign. The Traveller. O. GOLDSMITH.
Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past, On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it, "Italy." De Gustibus. R. BROWNING.
Courage, the highest gift, that scorns to bend To mean devices for a sordid end. Courage—an independent spark from Heaven's bright throne, By which the soul stands raised, triumphant, high, alone. Great in itself, not praises of the crowd, Above all vice, it stoops not to be proud. Courage, the mighty attribute of powers above, By which those great in war, are great in love. The spring of all brave acts is seated here, As falsehoods draw their sordid birth from fear. Love and a Bottle: Dedication. G. FARQUHAR.
Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Write on your doors the saying wise and old, "Be bold! be bold!" and everywhere—"Be bold; Be not too bold!" Yet better the excess Than the defect; better the more than less; Better like Hector in the field to die. Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly. Morituri Salutamus. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
MACBETH. If we should fail,— LADY MACBETH. We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble. Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
"Brave boys," he said, "be not dismayed, For the loss of one commander, For God will be our king this day, And I'll be general under." From the Battle of the Boyne. Old Ballad.
By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavor for defence, For courage mounteth with occasion. King John, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions littered in one day, And I the elder and more terrible. Julius Caesar, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
No common object to your sight displays, But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys, A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state. While Cato gives his little senate laws, What bosom beats not in his country's cause? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? Who sees him act, but envies every deed? Prologue to Mr. Addison's Cato. A. POPE.
Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?—Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And fade him follow. Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
"You fool! I tell you no one means you harm." "So much the better," Juan said, "for them." Don Juan. LORD BYRON.
The intent and not the deed Is in our power; and therefore who dares greatly Does greatly. Barbarossa. J. BROWN.
False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Lochiel's Warning. T. CAMPBELL.
How sweet and gracious, even in common speech, Is that fine sense which men call Courtesy! Wholesome as air and genial as the light, Welcome in every clime as breath of flowers, It transmutes aliens into trusting friends, And gives its owner passport round the globe. Courtesy. J.T. FIELDS.
In thy discourse, if thou desire to please; All such is courteous, useful, new, or wittie: Usefulness comes by labor, wit by ease; Courtesie grows in court; news in the citie. The Church Porch. G. HERBERT.
I am the very pink of courtesy. Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
The kindest man, The best-conditioned and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies. Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Would you both please and be instructed too, Watch well the rage of shining, to subdue; Hear every man upon his favorite theme, And ever be more knowing than you seem. B. STILLINGFLEET.
What is danger More than the weakness of our apprehensions? A poor cold part o' th' blood. Who takes it hold of? Cowards and wicked livers: valiant minds Were made the masters of it. Chances. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend; Dreading even fools, by flatteries besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged. Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave Love mercy, and delight to save. Fables, Pt. I. Fable I. J. GAY.
When desp'rate ills demand a speedy cure, Distrust is cowardice, and prudence folly. Irene, Act iv. Sc. 1. DR. S. JOHNSON.
He That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it, And, at the best, shows but a bastard valor. This life's a fort committed to my trust, Which I must not yield up, till it be forced: Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die, But he that boldly bears calamity. Maid of Honor, Act iv. Sc. 1. P. MASSINGER.
Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward! Thou little valiant, great in villany! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! Thou Fortune's champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety! King John, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
For he who fights and runs away May live to fight another day; But he who is in battle slain Can never rise and fight again. The Art of Poetry on a New Plan. O. GOLDSMITH.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Julius Caesar, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer. Childe Harold, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. Lalla Rookh: Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. T. MOORE.
For fools are stubborn in their way, As coins are hardened by th' allay; And obstinacy's ne'er so stiff As when 'tis in a wrong belief. Hudibras, Pt. III. Canto II. S. BUTLER.
You can and you can't, You will and you won't; You'll be damned if you do, You'll be damned if you don't. Chain (Definition of Calvinism). L. DOW.
They believed—faith, I'm puzzled—I think I may call Their belief a believing in nothing at all, Or something of that sort; I know they all went For a general union of total dissent. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.
We are our own fates. Our own deeds Are our doomsmen. Man's life was made Not for men's creeds, But men's actions. Lucile, Pt. II. Canto V. LORD LYTTON (Owen Meredith).
Go put your creed into your deed. Nor speak with double tongue. Ode: Concord, July 4, 1857. R.W. EMERSON.
There is a method in man's wickedness, It grows up by degrees. A King and no King, Act v. Sc. 4. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Tremble, thou wretch, That has within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipped of justice. King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
But many a crime deemed innocent on earth Is registered in Heaven; and these no doubt Have each their record, with a curse annexed. The Task, Bk. VI. W. COWPER.
And finds, with keen, discriminating sight, Black's not so black;—nor white so very white. New Morality. A. CANNING.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold, Alike fantastic if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.
Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot. Upon Roscommon's Translation of Horace's De Arte Poetica. E. WALLER.
Vex not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit: Vex not thou the poet's mind: For thou canst not fathom it. The Poet's Mind. A. TENNYSON.
Man yields to custom, as he bows to fate, In all things ruled—mind, body, and estate. Tale III., Gentleman Farmer. G. CRABBE.
The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells. Tirocinium. W. COWPER.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery, That aptly is put on. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Custom calls me to 't; What custom wills, in all things should we do 't, The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heapt For truth to o'erpeer. Coriolanus, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Such is the custom of Branksome Hall. The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto I. SIR W. SCOTT.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down. Othello, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
But to my mind,—though I am native here, And to the manner born,—it is a custom More honored in the breach, than the observance. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Day! Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last; Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim. Pippa Passes: Introduction. R. BROWNING.
How troublesome is day! It calls us from our sleep away; It bids us from our pleasant dreams awake, And sends us forth to keep or break Our promises to pay. How troublesome is day! Fly-By-Night. T.L. PEACOCK.
Blest power of sunshine!—genial day, What balm, what life is in thy ray! To feel there is such real bliss, That had the world no joy but this, To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,— It were a world too exquisite For man to leave it for the gloom, The deep, cold shadow, of the tomb. Lalla Rookh: The Fire Worshippers. T. MOORE.
Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. Cupid and Death. J. SHIRLEY.
A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age. Stanza subjoined to a Bill of Mortality. W. COWPER.
The tall, the wise, the reverend head Must lie as low as ours. A Funeral Thought, Bk. II. Hymn 63. DR. I. WATTS.
Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and—farewell king! K. Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors. Old Fortunatus. T. DEKKER.
Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither: Ripeness is all. King Lear, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
This fell sergeant, death, Is strict in his arrest. Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. King John, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
That we shall die we know: 't is but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. Julius Caesar, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Our days begin with trouble here, Our life is but a span, And cruel death is always near, So frail a thing is man. New England Primer.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Julius Caesar, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
The hour concealed, and so remote the fear, Death still draws nearer, never seeming near. Essay on Man, Epistle III. A. POPE.
The tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony: When words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. K. Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart: Here tired dissimulation drops her mask, Through life's grimace that mistress of the scene; Here real and apparent are the same. Night Thoughts, Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileged beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven. Night Thoughts. Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.
Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died, As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 't were a careless trifle. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
The bad man's death is horror; but the just, Keeps something of his glory in the dust. Castara. W. HABINGTON.
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
With mortal crisis doth portend My days to appropinque an end. Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III. S. BUTLER.
Sure, 't is a serious thing to die!... Nature runs back and shudders at the sight, And every life-string bleeds at thought of parting; For part they must: body and soul must part; Fond couple! linked more close than wedded pair. The Grave. B. BLAIR.
While man is growing, life is in decrease; And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.
Put out the light, and then—put out the light. If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me; but once put out thy light, Thou cunningest pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat, That can thy light relume. When I have plucked thy rose I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.
Death aims with fouler spite At fairer marks. Divine Poems. F. QUARLES.
The ripest fruit first falls. Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
The good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket. The Excursion, Bk. I W. WORDSWORTH.
Happy they! Thrice fortunate! who of that fragile mould, The precious porcelain of human clay, Break with the first fall. Don Juan, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson. W.C. BRYANT.
"Whom the gods love die young," was said of yore. Don Juan, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there. Epitaph on an Infant. S.T. COLERIDGE.
Thank God for Death! bright thing with dreary name. Benedicam Dominos. SARAH C. WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).
But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave. To a Young Lady. W. WORDSWORTH.
Death is the privilege of human nature, And life without it were not worth our taking: Thither the poor, the pris'ner, and the mourner Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down. The Fair Penitent, Act v. Sc 1. N. ROWE.
Death! to the happy thou art terrible, But how the wretched love to think of thee, O thou true comforter, the friend of all Who have no friend beside. Joan of Arc. R. SOUTHEY.
I would that I were low laid in my grave; I am not worth this coil that's made for me. King John, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
He gave his honors to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew; Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
* * * * *
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; Think not of the rising sun, For, at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille. Lady of the Lake, Canto I. SIR W. SCOTT.
Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further! Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Here may the storme-bett vessell safely ryde; This is the port of rest from troublous toyle, The worlde's sweet inn from paine and wearisome turmoyle. Faerie Queene. E. SPENSER.
To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break, nor tempests roar; Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 't is o'er. The Dispensary, Canto III. SIR S. GARTH.
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. Titus Andronicus, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Let guilt, or fear, Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them; Indifferent in his choice, to sleep or die. Cato. J. ADDISON.
Sleep is a death; O make me try By sleeping what it is to die, And as gently lay my head On my grave as now my bed. Religio Medici, Pt. II. Sec. 12. SIR T. BROWNE.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear To be we know not what, we know not where. Aurengzebe, Act iv. Sc. 1. J. DRYDEN.
Death, so called, is a thing that makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep. Don Juan, Canto XIV. LORD BYRON.
Let no man fear to die; we love to sleep all, And death is but the sounder sleep. Humorous Lieutenant. F. BEAUMONT.
I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says I must not stay, I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away. Colin and Lucy. T. TICKELL.
An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he looked plump and fair. While rankest venom foamed through every vein. Night Thoughts, Night VIII. DR. E. YOUNG.
The world is still deceived with ornament, In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod. And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul. De Montford, Act i. Sc. 2. J. BAILLIE.
Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another. The Iliad, Bk. IX. HOMER. Trans. of BRYANT.
Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! K. Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Our better part remains To work in close design, by fraud or guile, What force effected not; that he no less At length from us may find, who overcomes By force hath overcome but half his foe. Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
Appearances to save, his only care; So things seem right, no matter what they are. Rosciad. C. CHURCHILL.
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade. Table Talk. W. COWPER.
From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done. Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Count that day lost whose low descending sun Views from thy hand no worthy action done. Staniford's Art of Reading. Author Unknown.
That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it; This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. A Grammarian's Funeral. R. BROWNING.
'Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do. Saul, XVIII. R. BROWNING.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed. All's Well that Ends Well, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Little deeds of kindness, little words of love. Make our earth an Eden like the heaven above. Little Things. J.A. CARNEY.
I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best. Henry IV., Pt. I. Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Things done well. And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be feared. Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
So much one man can do, That does both act and know. Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland. A. MARVELL.
Yes, this is life; and everywhere we meet, Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat. The Unattained. E.O. SMITH.
At a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior, famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foiled, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. Sonnet XXV. SHAKESPEARE.
What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield. And what is else not to be overcome. Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
Unkindness may do much; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love. Othello, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
They never fail who die In a great cause. Marino Faliero, Act ii. Sc. 2. LORD BYRON.
So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear, Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good. Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.
No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure. Prometheus Unbound, Act i. P.B. SHELLEY.
The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed, that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have passed away. Needless Alarm. W. COWPER.
I called the devil, and he came, And with wonder his form did I closely scan; He is not ugly, and is not lame, But really a handsome and charming man. A man in the prime of life is the devil, Obliging, a man of the world, and civil; A diplomatist too, well skilled in debate, He talks quite glibly of church and state. Pictures of Travel: Return Home. H. HEINE.
The Devil was sick, the Devil a monk would be; The Devil was well, the Devil a monk was he. Works, Bk. IV. F. RABELAIS.
He must needs go that the devil drives. All's Well that Ends Well, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman. King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
The devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape. Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
But the trail of the serpent is over them all. Paradise and the Peri. T. MOORE.
Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep. Festus: Sc. Water and Wood. Midnight. P.J. BAILEY.
Dewdrops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! Youth and Age. S.T. COLERIDGE.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun,— Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. Advice to a Lady in Autumn. EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flower; The same dew, which sometimes on the buds Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, Stood now within the pretty flow'rets' eyes, Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. Midsummer Night's Dream, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
I've seen the dewdrop clinging To the rose just newly born. Mary of Argyle. C. JEFFREYS.
An host Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops, which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower. Paradise Lost, Book V. MILTON.
The dewdrops in the breeze of morn. Trembling and sparkling on the thorn. A Collection of Mary F. J. MONTGOMERY.
Hope tells a flattering tale, Delusive, vain, and hollow, Ah, let not Hope prevail, Lest disappointment follow. The Universal Songster. MISS WROTHER.
As distant prospects please us, but when near We find but desert rocks and fleeting air. The Dispensatory, Canto III. SIR S. GARTH.
We're charmed with distant views of happiness, But near approaches make the prospect less. Against Enjoyment. T. YALDEN.
The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate To have all feelings, save the one, decay, And every passion into one dilate. Lament of Tasso. LORD BYRON.
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds Hath naught to dread from outward blow: Who falls from all he knows of bliss Cares little into what abyss. The Giaour. LORD BYRON.
Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To lose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow. Mother Hubberd's Tale. E. SPENSER.
A thousand years a poor man watched Before the gate of Paradise: But while one little nap he snatched, It oped and shut. Ah! was he wise? Oriental Poetry: Swift Opportunity. W.R. ALGER.
Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up. Task, Bk. III. W. COWPER.
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye, But turns to ashes on the lips! Lalla Rookh: The Fire Worshippers. T. MOORE.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste. Childe Harold, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
At threescore winters' end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had. From the Greek. W. COWPER'S Trans.
The cold—the changed—perchance the dead—anew, The mourned, the loved, the lost—too many!—yet how few! Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.