The World's Best Poetry — Volume 10
Author: Various
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Of mountains, stretching on from east to west, So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal, As to belong rather to heaven than earth— But instantly receives into his soul A sense, a feeling that he loses not, A something that informs him 'tis a moment Whence he may date henceforward and forever! Italy. S. ROGERS.

The avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!— All that expands the spirit, yet appalls, Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below. Childe Harold, Canto III. LORD BYRON.

Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.

Over the hills and far away. The Beggar's Opera, Act i. Sc. 1. J. GAY.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. Manfred, Act i. Sc. 1. LORD BYRON.


They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness. Mirza. R. BARON.

He mourns the dead who lives as they desire. Night Thoughts, Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourned till Pity's self be dead. Dirge in Cymbeline. W. COLLINS.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,—not dead, but gone before,— He gathers round him. Human Life. S. ROGERS.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. All's Well that Ends Well, Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe. And still adore the hand that gives the blow. Verses to his Friend under Affliction. J. POMFRET.

My grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul. King Richard II., Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show! To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. A. POPE.

He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died. Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife. SIR H. WOTTON.

Poor Jack, farewell! I could have better spared a better man. King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act v. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

So may he rest: his faults lie gently on him! King Henry VIII, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure For life's worst ills to have no time to feel them.

Philip Van Artevelde, Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 5. H. TAYLOR.

The very cypress droops to death— Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The only constant mourner o'er the dead. The Giaour. LORD BYRON.


O blissful God, that art so just and trewe! Lo, howe that thou biwreyest mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that se we day by day. The Nonnes Preestes Tale. CHAUCER.

Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes. The Widow's Tears. G. CHAPMAN.

Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime. The Cock and the Fox. J. DRYDEN.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


God is its author, and not man; he laid The key-note of all harmonies; he planned All perfect combinations, and he made Us so that we could hear and understand. Music. J.A.C. BRAINARD.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears: Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. Don Juan, Canto XV. LORD BYRON.

With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touched within us, and the heart replies. The Task, Bk. VI.: Winter Walk at Noon. W. COWPER.

A velvet flute-note fell down pleasantly, Upon the bosom of that harmony, And sailed and sailed incessantly, As if a petal from a wild-rose blown Had fluttered down upon that pool of tone, And boatwise dropped o' the convex side And floated down the glassy tide And clarified and glorified The solemn spaces where the shadows bide. The Symphony. S. LANTER.

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled. Comus. MILTON.

Though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. Measure for Measure, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.— That strain again—it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor. Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Where music dwells Lingering and wandering on, as loath to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Pt. III. xliii. W. WORDSWORTH.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rooks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved, And, as with living souls, have been informed By magic numbers and persuasive sound. The Mourning Bride, Act i. Sc. 1. W. CONGREVE.

There is a charm, a power, that sways the breast; Bids every passion revel or be still; Inspires with rage, or all our cares dissolves: Can soothe distraction, and almost despair. Art of Preserving Health. J. ARMSTRONG.

The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the Master's spell; And feeling hearts—touch them but lightly—pour A thousand melodies unheard before! Human Life. S. ROGERS.

Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Antony and Cleopatra, Act ii. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

See to their desks Apollo's sons repair, Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! In unison their various tones to tune. Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon; In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, Winds the French-horn, and twangs the tingling harp; Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in, Attunes to order the chaotic din. Rejected Addresses: The Theatre. H. AND J. SMITH.

'Tis believed that this harp which I wake now for thee Was a siren of old who sung under the sea. The Origin of the Harp. T. MOORE.

And wheresoever, in his rich creation, Sweet music breathes—in wave, or bird, or soul— 'Tis but the faint and far reverberation Of that great tune to which the planets roll! Music. F.S. OSGOOD.

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced; As some vast river of unfailing source, Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, And opened new fountains in the human heart. Course of Time, Bk. IV. R. POLLOK.

Music resembles poetry: in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach. Essay on Criticism. A. POPE.


Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name? Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II. T. CAMPBELL.

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honor and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations. King Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. Douglas, Act ii. Sc. 1. J. HOME.

And if his name be George. I'll call him Peter; For new-made honor doth forget men's names. King John, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

What woful stuff this madrigal would be If some starved hackney sonneteer, or me, But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! Essay on Criticism, Pt. II A. POPE.

'Tis from high life high characters are drawn; A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn. Moral Essays, Epistle I. A. POPE.

Oh! Amos Cottle![A] Phoebus! What a name To fill the speaking trump of future fame! English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.

[Footnote A: "Mr. Cottle, Amos or Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, once sellers of books they did not write, but now writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair of epics."—THE AUTHOR.]


The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man, who, from the world escaped, In still retreats and flowery solitudes, To nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, through the revolving year. The Seasons: Autumn. J. THOMSON.

When that the monthe of May Is comen, and that I hear the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farwel my boke, and my devocion. Legende of Goode Women: Prologue. CHAUCER.

To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Sonnet XIV. KEATS.

What more felicitie can fall to creature. Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature! The Fate of the Butterfly. E. SPENSER.

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.

In such green palaces the first kings reigned, Slept in their shades, and angels entertained; With such old counsellors they did advise, And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise. On St. James' Park. E. WALLER

And recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul. The Excursion, Bk. IV. W. WORDSWORTH.

Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year; How mighty, how majestic are thy works! The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.

Every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees. The Princess, Canto VII. A. TENNYSON.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant And Autumn garner to the end of time. I trust in God—the right shall he the right And other than the wrong, while he endures; I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward, Nature's good And God's. A Soul Tragedy, Act i. R. BROWNING.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve. The Castle of Indolence, Canto II. J. THOMSON.

Who can paint Like Nature? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.

For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss. The Cock and Fox. J. DRYDEN.

The course of nature is the art of God. Night Thoughts, Night IX. DR. E. YOUNG.

'Tis elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand: Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man. Night Thoughts, Night IX. DR. E. YOUNG.

Nature, the vicar of the almightie Lord. Assembly of Foules. CHAUCER.

To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye. Miscellaneous Sonnets. W. WORDSWORTH.


Darkness now rose, As daylight sunk, and brought in low'ring Night, Her shadowy offspring. Paradise Regained, Bk. IV. MILTON.

Now black and deep the Night begins to fall, A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching gloom, Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. Order confounded lies; all beauty void, Distinction lost, and gay variety One universal blot: such the fair power Of light, to kindle and create the whole. The Seasons: Autumn. J. THOMSON.

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark-blue depths. Beneath her steady ray The desert-circle spreads. Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night! Thalaba. R. SOUTHEY.

This sacred shade and solitude, what is it? 'Tis the felt presence of the Deity.

* * * * *

By night an atheist half believes a God. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Night Thoughts, Night I. DR. E. YOUNG.

All is gentle; naught Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night, Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit. Doge of Venice. LORD BYRON.

O radiant Dark! O darkly fostered ray! Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day. The Spanish Gypsy, Bk. I. GEORGE ELIOT.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world. Manfred, Act iii. Sc. 4. LORD BYRON.

Night is the time for rest; How sweet, when labors close. To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Down on our own delightful bed! Night. J. MONTGOMERY.

Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task foredone. Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Quiet night, that brings Rest to the laborer, is the outlaw's day, In which he rises early to do wrong, And when his work is ended dares not sleep. The Guardian, Act ii. Sc. 4. P. MASSINGER.

I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

All was so still, so soft, in earth and air, You scarce would start to meet a spirit there Secure that nought of evil could delight To walk in such a scene, on such a night! Lara. LORD BYRON.

Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence. Paradise Lost, Bk. V. MILTON.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve; Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

In the dead vast and middle of the night. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and Hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

O wild and wondrous midnight, There is a might in thee To make the charmed body Almost like spirit be. And give it some faint glimpses Of immortality! Midnight. J.R. LOWELL.


Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own. Sonnet IV. J.R. LOWELL.

His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for 's power to thunder. Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc 1. SHAKESPEARE.

This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirators save only he Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. Julius Caesar, Act v. Sc 5. SHAKESPEARE.


For most men (till by losing rendered sager) Will back their own opinions by a wager. Beppo. LORD BYRON.

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.

He that complies against his will Is of his own opinion still. Hudibras, Canto III. S. BUTLER.


Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offered, Shall never find it more. Antony and Cleopatra, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.

This could but have happened once, And we missed it, lost it forever. Youth and Art. R. BROWNING.

He that will not when he may, When he will he shall have nay. Quoted in Anatomy of Melancholy. R. BURTON.

He that would not when he might, He shall not when he wolda. Reliques: The Baffled Knight. BISHOP T. PERCY.

Urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition. Lest zeal, nor melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. King John, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold. Desultory Stanzas. W. WORDSWORTH.


But, spite of all the criticising elves, Those who would make us feel—must feel themselves. The Rosciad. C. CHURCHILL.

Words that weep and tears that speak. The Prophet. A. COWLEY.

Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece, To Macedon. and Artaxerxes' throne. Paradise Regained, Bk, IV. MILTON.

Where nature's end of language is declined, And men talk only to conceal the mind. Love of Fame, Satire II. DR. E. YOUNG.

What means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? Henry VI., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Frank, haughty, rash,—the Rupert of debate. The New Timon, Pt. I. E. BULWER-LYTTON.

For rhetoric, he could not ope His mouth, but out there flew a trope.

* * * * *

For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools. Hudibras, Pt. 1. Canto 1. S. BUTLER.

"I wonder if Brougham thinks as much as he talks," Said a punster, perusing a trial; "I vow, since his lordship was made Baron Vaux, He's been Vaux et proeterea nihil!" A Voice and Nothing More. ANONYMOUS.


Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled. Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. Paradise Lost, Bk. III. MILTON.

For the world was built in order And the atoms march in tune: Rhyme the pipe, and Time the warder, The sun obeys them, and the moon. Monadnock. R.W. EMERSON.

Mark what unvaried laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate. Essay on Man, Epistle III. A. POPE.

The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre Observe degree, priority and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office and custom, in all line of order. Troilus and Cresida, Act . Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.


The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace, The smoke of Hell, that monster called Paine. Sidera: Paine. SIR P. SIDNEY.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain, And perish in our own. Daisy. F. THOMPSON.

Pain is no longer pain when it is past. Nature's Lesson. M.J. PRESTON.

Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain. Love's Labor's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Alas! by some degree of woe We every bliss must gain; The heart can ne'er a transport know That never feels a pain. Song. LORD LYTTELTON.


The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring. Monody on the Death of the Rt. Hon. R.B. Sheridan. LORD BYRON.

Hard features every bungler can command: To draw true beauty shows a master's hand. To Mr. Lee, on his Alexander. J. DRYDEN.

A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. Retaliation. O. GOLDSMITH.

Lely on animated canvas stole The sleepy eye, that spoke the melting soul. Horace, Bk. II. Epistle I. A. POPE.

I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Timon of Athens, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

With hue like that when some great painter dips His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse. The Revolt of Islam. P.B. SHELLEY.


To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart. On Taking Leave of ——. S.T. COLERIDGE.

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to love; And, when we meet a mutual heart, Come in between and bid us part? Song. J. THOMSON.

Two lives that once part, are as ships that divide When, moment on moment, there rushes between The one and the other, a sea;— Ah, never can fall from the days that have been A gleam on the years that shall be! A Lament. E. BULWER-LYTTON.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON.

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who hold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet; One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more. Life Drama, Sc. 4. A. SMITH.

He did keep The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving as the fits and stirs of his mind Could best express how slow his soul sailed on.— How swift his ship. Cymbeline, Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

But in vain she did conjure him, To depart her presence so, Having a thousand tongues t'allure him And but one to bid him go. When lips invite, And eyes delight, And cheeks as fresh as rose in June Persuade delay, What boots to say Forego me now, come to me soon? Dulcina. SIR W. RALEIGH.

Good night, good night: parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

JULIET.—O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO.—I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

In the hope to meet Shortly again, and make our absence sweet. Underwoods.. B. JONSON.

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss: Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this! When we two parted. LORD BYRON.

BRUTUS.—Whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take; For ever, and for ever, farewell. Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why, then this parting was well made. CASSIUS.—For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! Julius Caesar, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


Take heed lest passion sway Thy judgment to do aught, which else free will Would not admit. Paradise Lost, Bk. VIII. MILTON.

In men, we various ruling passions find; In women two almost divide the kind; Those only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. Moral Essays, Epistle II. A. POPE.

Passions are likened best to floods and streams, The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb. The Silent Lover. SIR W. RALEIGH.

A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench. Henry VI., Pt. III. Act iv. Sc. 8 SHAKESPEARE.

The ruling passion, be it what it will, The ruling passion conquers reason still.

* * * * *

Hear then the truth: 'Tis Heav'n each passion sends, And different men directs to different ends. Extremes in nature equal good produce; Extremes in man concur to general use. Moral Essays, Epistle III. A. POPE.

And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest. Essay on Man, Epistle II. A. POPE.


O, call back yesterday, bid time return.

* * * * *

To-day, unhappy day, too late. King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. Imitation of Horace, Bk, I. Ode XXIX. J. DRYDEN.

Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were,

* * * * *

A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour! Childe Harold, Canto II. LORD BYRON.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed, Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy Past The forms that once have been. A Gleam of Sunshine. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Applause To that blest son of foresight: lord of fate! That awful independent on to-morrow Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past; Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile. Night Thoughts, Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.

For time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer. Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. Troilus and Cressida, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.


Endurance is the crowning quality, And patience all the passion of great hearts. Columbus. J.R. LOWELL.

His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains, But neither feels nor fears ideal pains. The Borough. G. CRABBE.

'Tis all men's office to speak patience To those that ring under the load of sorrow. But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

And I must bear What is ordained with patience, being aware Necessity doth front the universe With an invincible gesture. Prometheus Bound. E.B. BROWNING.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Othello, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

I worked with patience, which means almost power. Aurora Leigh, Bk. III. E.B. BROWNING.

Or arm th' obdured breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.

Patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill. The Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.

Patience, my lord! why, 't is the soul of peace; Of all the virtues 'tis nearest kin to heaven; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed. The Honest Whore, Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 12. T. DEKKER.


They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why. Connecticut. F-G. HALLECK.

No factious voice Called them unto the field of generous fame, But the pure consecrated love of home; No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes In all its greatness. The Graves of the Patriots. J.G. PERCIVAL.

The worst of rebels never arm To do their king and country harm, But draw their swords to do them good, As doctors use, by letting blood. Hudibras. S. BUTLER.

Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift, To that of life and an immortal soul! Liberty, Pt. V. J. THOMSON.

The inextinguishable spark, which fires The soul of patriots. Leonidas. R. GLOVER.

I do love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, than mine own life. Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

What pity is it That we can die but once to save our country! Cato, Act iv. Sc. 4. J. ADDISON.


O Peace! thou source and soul of social life; Beneath whose calm inspiring influence Science his views enlarges, Art refines, And swelling Commerce opens all her ports. Britannia. J. THOMSON.

Ay, but give me worship and quietness; I like it better than a dangerous honor. King Henry VI., Pt. III. Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

This hand, to tyrants ever sworn the foe, For freedom only deals the deadly blow: Then sheathes in calm repose the vengeful blade, For gentle peace in freedom's hallowed shade. Written in an Album. J.Q. ADAMS.

To reap the harvest of perpetual peace, By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Take away the sword; States can be saved without it. Richelieu, Act ii. Sc. 2. E. BULWER-LYTTON.

A peace is of the nature of a conquest: For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees, And lover's sonnets turned to holy psalms; A man at arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are his age's alms. Polyhymnia. G. PEELE.

Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.

Till each man finds his own in all men's good, And all men work in noble brotherhood, Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers, And ruling by obeying Nature's powers, And gathering all the fruits of peace and crowned with all her flowers. Ode, sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition. A. TENNYSON.


Beneath the rule of men entirely great The pen is mightier than the sword. Richelieu, Act ii. Sc 3. E. BULWER-LYTTON.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an Angel's wing. Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Pt. III., v. Walton's Book of Lives. W. WORDSWORTH.

Whose noble praise Deserves a quill pluckt from an angel's wing. Sonnet. DOROTHY BERRY.

You still shall live—such virtue hath my pen, Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. Sonnet, LXXXI. SHAKESPEARE.

Oh! nature's noblest gift—my gray-goose quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent-bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men! English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.


Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain— Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. Thou many-headed monster thing, O, who would wish to be thy king! Lady of the Lake, Canto V. SIR W. SCOTT.

I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.

He that depends Upon your favors swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind; And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland. Coriolanus, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

The scum That rises upmost when the nation boils. Don Sebastian. J. DRYDEN.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Induction. SHAKESPEARE.

The people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God. To Augustus. A. POPE.

Through all disguise, form, place or name, Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squalid shame, Thou lookest on the man within.

On man, as man, retaining yet, Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim, The crown upon his forehead set— The immortal gift of God to him. Democracy. J.G. WHITTIER.


To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. King John, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection! Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honor. King Henry VIII., Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.


And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor. Richard III. (Altered), Act v. Sc. 3. C. CIBBER.

Perfume for a lady's chamber. Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Take your paper, too. And let me have them very well perfumed, For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. Taming of the Shrew, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Sabean odors from the spicy shore Of Arabie the blest. Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. Rape of the Lock, Canto I. A. POPE.

A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

I cannot talk with civet in the room, A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume. Conversation. W. COWPER.



As that renowned poet them compyled With warlike numbers and heroicke sound, Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled. Faerie Queene, Bk. IV. Canto II. E. SPENSER.


Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick! Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings. King Henry VI., Part III. Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.


The starry Galileo, with his woes. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.


The admired mirror, glory of our isle, Thou far, far more than mortal man, whose style Struck more men dumb to hearken to thy song Than Orpheus' harp, or Tully's golden tongue. To him, as right, for wit's deep quintessence, For honor, valor, virtue, excellence, Be all the garlands, crown his tomb with bay, Who spake as much as e'er our tongue can say. Britannia's Pastorals, Bk. II. Song 2. W. BROWNE.


Divinest Spenser, heaven-bred, happy Muse! Would any power into my brain infuse Thy worth, or all that poets had before, I could not praise till thou deserv'st no more. Britannia's Pastorals, Bk. II. Song 1. W. BROWNE.


If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined, The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind! Essay on Man, Epistle IV. A. POPE.


O rare Ben Jonson! Epitaph. SIR J. YOUNG.

What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life: then when there hath been thrown Wit able enough to justify the town For three days past; wit that might warrant be For the whole city to talk foolishly Till that were cancelled; and when that was gone, We left an air behind us, which alone Was able to make the two next companies (Right witty, though but downright fools) more wise. Letter to Ben Jonson. F. BEAUMONT.


Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb. On Shakespeare. W. BASSE.


Old mother-wit and nature gave Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have; In Spenser and in Jonson art Of slower nature got the start; But both in him so equal are, None knows which bears the happiest share; To him no author was unknown, Yet what he wrote was all his own. Elegy on Cowley. SIR J. DENHAM.


[Lord President of the Council to King James I. Parliament was dissolved March 10, and he died March 14, 1628.]

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament Broke him.... Killed with report that old man eloquent. To the Lady Margaret Ley. MILTON.


As thou these ashes, little Brook! wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies, How the bold Teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed. Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Part II. xvii. To Wickliffe. W. WORDSWORTH.

[Bartlett quotes, in this connection, the following:]

"Some prophet of that day said: 'The Avon to the Severn runs, The Severn to the sea; And Wickliffe's dust shall spread abroad, Wide as the waters be.'" From Address before the "Sons of New Hampshire" (1849). D. WEBSTER.


Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy, The secrets of the abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounds of place and time, The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Progress of Poesy. T. GRAY.


His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone; For he was great, ere fortune made him so: And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. Oliver Cromwell. J. DRYDEN.

Or, ravished with the whistling of a name, See Cromwell, damned to everlasting fame! Essay on Man, Epistle IV. A. POPE.


Here lies our sovereign lord the king, Whose word no man relies on; He never says a foolish thing, Nor ever does a wise one. Written on the Bedchamber Door of Charles II. EARL OF ROCHESTER.


The solitary monk who shook the world From pagan slumber, when the gospel trump Thundered its challenge from his dauntless lips In peals of truth. Luther. R. MONTGOMERY.


I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride. Resolution and Independence. W. WORDSWORTH.


A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems, Who, void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, On virtue still, and Nature's pleasing themes, Poured forth his unpremeditated strain:

The world forsaking with a calm disdain, Here laughed he careless in his easy seat; Here quaffed, encircled with the joyous train, Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet He lothed much to write, he cared to repeat. Stanza introduced into Thomson's "Castle of Indolence," Canto I. LORD LYTTELTON.

In yonder grave a Druid lies. Where slowly winds the stealing wave; The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its poet's sylvan grave. Ode on the Death of Thomson. W. COLLINS.


The hand of him here torpid lies That drew the essential form of grace; Here closed in death the attentive eyes That saw the manners in the face. Epitaph. DR. S. JOHNSON.


Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night: God said, "Let Newton be!" and all was light. Epitaph. A. POPE.


Here lies David Garrick—describe me, who can. An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man. As an actor, confessed without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line. Retaliation. O. GOLDSMITH.


Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it, too much; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind. And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote: Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Retaliation. O. GOLDSMITH.


Whose humor, as gay as the firefly's light, Played round every subject, and shone as it played;— Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;— Whose eloquence—brightening whatever it tried, Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave— Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, As ever bore freedom aloft on its wave! Lines on the Death of Sheridan. T. MOORE.

Long shall we seek his likeness,—long in vain. And turn to all of him which may remain, Sighing that Nature formed but one such man. And broke the die—in moulding Sheridan! Monody on the Death of Sheridan. LORD BYRON.


While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er Shall sink while there's an echo left to air. Age of Bronze. LORD BYRON.


O good gray head which all men knew, O voice from which their omens all men drew, O iron nerve to true occasion true, O fallen at length that tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew! Such was he whom we deplore. The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er. The great World-victor's victor will be seen no more. On the Death of the Duke of Wellington. A. TENNYSON.


His nature's a glass of champagne with the foam on 't. As tender as Fletcher, as witty as Beaumont; So his best things are done in the flash of the moment. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.


There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told.

Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost clew regain? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower Unfinished must remain! Hawthorne, May 23, 1864 H.W. LONGFELLOW.


A Greek head on right Yankee shoulders, whose range Has Olympus for one pole, for t'other the Exchange; He seems, to my thinking (although I'm afraid The comparison must, long ere this, have been made). A Plotinus-Montaigne, where the Egyptian's gold mist And the Gascon's shrewd wit cheek-by-jowl coexist. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.


C.'s the Titan, as shaggy of mind as of limb,— E. the clear-eyed Olympian, rapid and slim; The one's two thirds Norseman, the other half Greek, Where the one's most abounding, the other's to seek; C.'s generals require to be seen in the mass,— E.'s specialties gain if enlarged by the glass; C. gives nature and God his own fits of the blues. And rims common-sense things with mystical hues,— E. sits in a mystery calm and intense, And looks coolly around him with sharp common-sense. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.


There comes Poe, with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge, Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge, Who talks like a book of iambs and pentameters. In a way to make people of common sense damn metres, Who has written some things quite the best of their kind, But the heart somehow seems all squeezed out by the mind. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.


There is Whittier, whose swelling and vehement heart Strains the strait-breasted drab of the Quaker apart, And reveals the live Man, still supreme and erect, Underneath the bemummying wrappers of sect; There was ne'er a man born who had more of the swing Of the true lyric bard and all that kind of thing;

* * * * *

Our Quaker leads off metaphorical fights For reform and whatever they call human rights, Both singing and striking in front of the war, And hitting his foes with the mallet of Thor. A Fable for Critics. J.R. LOWELL.


The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!

The Excursion, Bk. III. W. WORDSWORTH.

How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns. Comus. MILTON.

In discourse more sweet, (For eloquence the soul song charms the sense,) Others apart sat on a hill retired, In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost. Of good and evil much they argued then, Of happiness and final misery, Passion and apathy, and glory and shame; Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.

Sublime Philosophy! Thou art the patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven, And bright with beckoning angels;—but alas! We see thee, like the patriarch, but in dreams. By the first step,—dull slumbering on the earth. Richelieu, Act iii. Sc. 1. E. BULWER-LYTTON.

Not so the son; he marked this oversight. And then mistook reverse of wrong for right; (For What to shun, will no great knowledge need, But What to follow, is a task indeed!) Moral Essays, Epistle III. A. POPE.

He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly. Hudibras, Pt. I. DR. S. BUTLER.

His cogitative faculties immersed In cogibundity of cogitation. Chronon, Act i. Sc. 1. H. CAREY.

When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter," And proved it—'t was no matter what he said. Don Juan, Canto XI. LORD BYRON.

Thinking is but an idle waste of thought. And naught is everything and everything is naught. Rejected Addresses: Cui Bono? H. AND J. SMITH.

HORATIO.—O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! HAMLET.—And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.


Pity's akin to love; and every thought Of that soft kind is welcome to my soul. Oroonoko, Act ii. Sc. 2. T. SOUTHERNE.

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress: A begging prince what beggar pities not? King Richard IV., Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs. King Henry VI., Pt. III. Act iv. Sc. 8. SHAKESPEARE.

Pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. Timon of Athens, Act iii. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast Where love has been received a welcome guest. The Duenna, Act ii. Sc. 3. R.B. SHERIDAN.


Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem; There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground But holds some joy of silence or of sound, Some sprite begotten of a summer dream. Hidden Joys. L. BLANCHARD.

Pleasure admitted in undue degree Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. Progress of Error. W. COWPER.

Sure as night follows day, Death treads in Pleasure's footsteps round the world, When Pleasure treads the paths which Reason shuns. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.

To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain. Night Thoughts, Night VIII. DR. E. YOUNG. A man of pleasure is a man of pains. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.

Who mixed reason with pleasure and wisdom with mirth. Retaliation. O. GOLDSMITH.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. Resolution and Independence. W. WORDSWORTH.

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words—health, peace, and competence. Essay on Man, Epistle IV. A. POPE.


We call those poets who are first to mark Through earth's dull mist the coming of the dawn,— Who see in twilight's gloom the first pale spark, While others only note that day is gone. Shakespeare. O.W. HOLMES.

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song. Epistle to G.F. Mathews. J. KEATS.

Most joyful let the poet be; It is through him that all men see. The Poet of the Old and New Times. W.E. CHANNING.

God's prophets of the beautiful. Vision of Poets. E.B. BROWNING.

For that fine madness still he did retain, Which rightly should possess a poet's brain. Of Poets and Poesy: (Christopher Marlowe). M. DRAYTON.

But he, the bard of every age and clime, Of genius fruitful, and of soul sublime, Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours No spurious metal, fused from common ores, But gold, to matchless purity refin'd, And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind. Juvenal. W. GIFFORD.

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong; They learn in suffering what they teach in song. Julian and Maddalo. P.B. SHELLEY. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide:

There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light. The Garden (Translated). A. MARVELL.

In his own verse the poet still we find. In his own page his memory lives enshrined. As in their amber sweets the smothered bees,— As the fair cedar, fallen before the breeze, Lies self-embalmed amidst the mouldering trees. Bryant's Seventieth Birthday. O.W. HOLMES.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains Which only poets know. The Timepiece: The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.

While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep. The Dunciad. A. POPE.

Deem not the framing of a deathless lay The pastime of a drowsy summer day. But gather all thy powers, And wreak them on the verse that thou wouldst weave. The Poet. W.C. BRYANT.

From his chaste Muse employed her heaven-taught lyre None but the noblest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought. One line which, dying, he could wish to blot. Prologue to Thomson's Coriolanus. LORD LYTTELTON.

I can no more believe old Homer blind, Than those who say the sun hath never shined; The age wherein he lived was dark, but he Could not want sight who taught the world to see. Progress of Learning. SIR J. DENHAM.

Read Homer once, and you can read no more, For all books else appear so mean, so poor; Verse may seem prose; but still persist to read, And Homer will be all the books you need. Essay on Poetry. SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.

The poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above; Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. The Poet. A. TENNYSON.

Happy who in his verse can gently steer From grave to light, from pleasant to severe. The Art of Poetry. J. DRYDEN.

But those that write in rhyme still make The one verse for the other's sake; For one for sense, and one for rhyme, I think 's sufficient at one time. Hudibras, Pt. II. DR. S. BUTLER.

For rhyme the rudder is of verses. With which, like ships, they steer their courses. Hudibras, Pt. I. DR. S. BUTLER.

And he whose fustian 's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad. Prologue to Satires. A. POPE.

I had rather be a kitten, and cry, mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers; I had rather hear a brazen can stick turned, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry: 'T is like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Poets, like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover every part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed. Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.

Unjustly poets we asperse; Truth shines the brighter clad in verse, And all the fictions they pursue Do but insinuate what is true. To Stella. J. SWIFT.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares,— The Poets! who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! Personal Talk. W. WORDSWORTH.


Wisdom married to immortal verse. The Excursion, Bk. VII. w. WORDSWORTH.

Of all those arts in which the wise excel, Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well; No writing lifts exalted man so high As sacred and soul-moving poesy. Essay on Poetry. SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.

Poetry is itself a thing of God; He made his prophets poets; and the more We feel of poesie do we become Like God in love and power.—under-makers. Festus: Proem. P.J. BAILEY.

Go boldly forth, my simple lay, Whose accents flow with artless ease, Like orient pearls at random strung. A Persian Song of Hafiz. SIR W. JONES.

One simile that solitary shines In the dry desert of a thousand lines. Imitations of Horace. Epistle I. Bk. II. A. POPE.

Read, meditate, reflect, grow wise—in vain; Try every help, force fire from every spark; Yet shall you ne'er the poet's power attain, If heaven ne'er stamped you with the muses' mark. The Poet. A. HILL.

Jewels five-words long, That on the stretched forefinger of all time Sparkle forever. The Princess, Canto II. A. TENNYSON.

Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men. Resolution and Independence. W. WORDSWORTH.

The varying verse, the full resounding line. The long majestic march, and energy divine. Imitations of Horace, Bk. II. Epistle I. A. POPE.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, or in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love. Poems in Summer of 1833, XXXVII. W. WORDSWORTH. Thanks untraced to lips unknown Shall greet me like the odors blown From unseen meadows newly mown, Or lilies floating in some pond, Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; The traveller owns the grateful sense Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, And, pausing, takes with forehead bare The benediction of the air. Snow-Bound. J.G. WHITTIER.

Give me that growth which some perchance deem sleep, Wherewith the steadfast coral-stems arise, Which, by the toil of gathering energies, Their upward way into clear sunshine keep Until, by Heaven's sweetest influences, Slowly and slowly spreads a speck of green Into a pleasant island in the seas, Where, mid tall palms, the cane-roofed home is seen, And wearied men shall sit at sunset's hour, Hearing the leaves and loving God's dear power. Sonnet VII. J.R. LOWELL.

A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 't is the supreme of power; 'T is might half slumbering on its own right arm. Sleep and Poetry. J. KEATS.

For dear to gods and men is sacred song. Self-taught I sing: by Heaven and Heaven alone, The genuine seeds of poesy are sown. Odyssey, Bk. XXII. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.

Still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. Paradise Lost, Bk. VII. MILTON.


The freeman casting, with unpurchased hand, The vote that shakes the turrets of the land. Poetry. O.W. HOLMES.

A weapon that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod; But executes a freeman's will, As lightning does the will of God: And from its force, nor doors nor locks Can shield you;—'t is the ballot-box. A Word from a Petitioner. J. PIERPONT.

What is a Communist? One who has yearnings For equal division of unequal earnings. Epigram. E. ELLIOTT.

Measures, not men, have always been my mark. The Good-natured Man, Act ii. O. GOLDSMITH.

Coffee, which makes the politician wise, And see through all things with his half shut eyes. Rape of the Lock, Canto III. A. POPE.

Get thee glass eyes; And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.

Here and there some stern, high patriot stood, Who could not get the place for which he sued. Don Juan, Canto XIII. LORD BYRON.

Get place and wealth; if possible, with grace; If not, by any means get wealth and place. Epistles of Horace, Epistle I. A. POPE.

O, that estates, degrees, and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor Were purchased by the merit of the wearer! Merchant of Venice, Act ii. Sc. 9. SHAKESPEARE.


When I behold what pleasure is pursuit, What life, what glorious eagerness it is, Then mark how full possession falls from this, How fairer seem the blossoms than the fruit,— I am perplext, and often stricken mute, Wondering which attained the higher bliss, The winged insect, or the chrysalis It thrust aside with unreluctant foot. Pursuit and Possession. T.B. ALDRICH.

Bliss in possession will not last; Remembered joys are never past; At once the fountain, stream, and sea, They were, they are, they yet shall be. The Little Cloud. J. MONTGOMERY.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless. Childe Harold, Canto II. LORD BYRON.

I die,—but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed. The Giaour. LORD BYRON.


I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient. King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye Th' unfeeling proud one looks, and passes by, Condemned on penury's barren path to roam, Scorned by the world, and left without a home. Pleasures of Hope. T. CAMPBELL.

Through tattered clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.

Take physic, Pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel. King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

O world! how apt the poor are to be proud! Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

This mournful truth is everywhere confessed, Slow rises worth by poverty oppressed. Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.

And rustic life and poverty Grow beautiful beneath his touch. Burns. T. CAMPBELL.

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor. King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame. A mechanized automaton. Queen Mab, Pt. III. P.B. SHELLEY.

Because the good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can. Rob Roy's Grave. W. WORDSWORTH.

For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think? Medal. J. DRYDEN.

Patience and gentleness is power. On a Lock of Milton's Hair. L. HUNT.

Some novel power Sprang up forever at a touch, And hope could never hope too much, In watching thee from hour to hour. In Memoriam, CXI. A. TENNYSON.

A power is passing from the earth. On the Expected Dissolution of Mr. Fox. W. WORDSWORTH.

He hath no power that hath not power to use. Festus, Sc. A Visit. P.J. BAILEY.


The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in every heart. Love of Fame, Satire I. DR. E. YOUNG.

One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages. Winter's Tale, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

O Popular Applause! what heart of man Is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms? The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.

I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

To things of sale a seller's praise belongs. Love's Labor's Lost, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

If matters not how false or forced, So the best things be said o' the worst. Hudibras, Pt. II. S. BUTLER.

Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise. Paradise Regained, Bk. III. MILTON.

Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know. Iliad, Bk. X. HOMER. Trans. of. POPE.

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat. The Poets. H.W. LONGFELLOW.


Prayer moves the Hand which moves the world. There is an Eye that Never Sleeps. J.A. WALLACE.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part Without the sweet concurrence of the heart. Hesperides: The Heart. R. HERRICK.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As Down in the Sunless Retreats. T. MOORE.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer. In Memoriam, XXXII. A. TENNYSON.

Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak or sick with long delay; Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. Prayer. H. COLERIDGE.

Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit so on earth to be; But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away. Prayer. H. COLERIDGE.

And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees. Exhortation to Prayer. W. COWPER.

Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice. The Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.

You few that loved me

* * * * *

Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. King Henry VIII., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause. The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.

God preaches, a noted clergyman, And the sermon is never long; So instead of getting to heaven at last, I'm going all along. A Service of Song. E. DICKINSON.

Skilful alike with tongue and pen, He preached to all men everywhere The Gospel of the Golden Rule, The new Commandment given to men, Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need. Tales of a Wayside Inn: Prelude. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind. And, while they captivate, inform the mind. Hope. W. COWPER.

The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence, And all the well-whipped cream of courtly sense. Satires: Epilogues, Dialogue I. A. POPE.

The lilies say: Behold how we Preach without words of purity. Consider the Lilies of the Field. C.G. ROSSETTI.

Sow in the morn thy seed, At eve hold not thy hand; To doubt and fear give thou no heed, Broadcast it o'er the land. The Field of the World. J. MONTGOMERY.

His preaching much, but more his practice wrought— A living sermon of the truths he taught. Character of a Good Parson. J. DRYDEN.

I preached as never sure to preach again, And as a dying man to dying men. Love breathing Thanks and Praise. R. BAXTER.


Lo! on a narrow neck of land, 'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand. Hymn. C. WESLEY.

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future, two eternities! Lalla Rookh: The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. T. MOORE.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state. Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own: He who, secure within, can say, To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. Imitation of Horace, Bk. I. Ode 29. J. DRYDEN.

Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise. Letter to Cobham. W. CONGREVE.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last. Davideis, Vol. I. Bk. I. A. COWLEY.


Pride like an eagle builds amid the stars. Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.

Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea? As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.

'T is pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. Cato, Act i. Sc. 4. J. ADDISON.

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never failing vice of fools. Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.

Where wavering man, betrayed by venturous pride To chase the dreary paths without a guide. As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good. The Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.

Pride (of all others the most dang'rous fault) Proceeds from want of sense or want of thought. Essay on Translated Verse. W. DILLON.

Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark. The Chameleon. J. MERRICK.

Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk. Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Ask for whose use the heavenly bodies shine; Earth for whose use? Pride answers, 'T is for mine! Essay on Man, Pt. I. A. POPE.


From lower to the higher next, Not to the top, is Nature's text; And embryo good, to reach full stature, Absorbs the evil in its nature. Festina Lente. J.R. LOWELL.

Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be. A Death in the Desert. R. BROWNING.

Progress is The law of life, man is not Man as yet. Paracelsus, Pt. V. R. BROWNING.

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord—"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better." By an Evolutionist. A. TENNYSON.

Eternal process moving on, From state to state the spirit moves. In Memoriam, LXXXIII. A. TENNYSON.


Promise is most given when the least is said. Musoeus of Hero and Leander. G. CHAPMAN.

He was ever precise in promise-keeping. Measure for Measure, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.

His promises were, as he then was, mighty; But his performance, as he is now, nothing. King Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

There buds the promise of celestial worth. The Last Day, Bk. III. DR. E. YOUNG.

Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloomed and fruitful were the next. King Henry VI., Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.


O, shame to men! devil with devil damned Firm concord holds; men only disagree Of creatures rational. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.

O we fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. The Princess. A. TENNYSON.

What dire offence from amorous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things. Rape of the Lock, Canto I. A. POPE.

Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Those who in quarrels interpose, Must often wipe a bloody nose. Fables: The Mastiffs.. J. GAY.

But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honor's at the stake. Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

In a false quarrel there is no true valor. Much Ado about Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

I'm armed with more than complete steel, The justice of my quarrel. Lust's Dominion, Act iii. Sc. 4. C. MARLOWE.


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.

Drip, drip, the rain comes falling, Rain in the woods, rain on the sea; Even the little waves, beaten, come crawling As if to find shelter here with me. Waiting in the Rain. J.H. MORSE.

The rain-drops' showery dance and rhythmic beat, With tinkling of innumerable feet. The Microcosm: Hearing. A. COLES.

And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain. Midnight Mass for the Dying Year. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

See where it smokes along the sounding plain, Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain; Peal upon peal, redoubling all around, Shakes it again and faster to the ground. Truth. W. COWPER.

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair. Anacreontiques. A. COWLEY.

When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. Twelfth Night, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow in the sky! Idylls of the King: The Coming of Arthur. A. TENNYSON.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray, Each in the other melting. The Evening Rainbow. R. SOUTHEY.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky, When storms prepare to part; I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. To the Rainbow. T. CAMPBELL.

What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? Marmion, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.

Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie Of thy Lord's hand, the object of His eye! When I behold thee, though my light be dim, Distinct, and low, I can in thine see Him Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, And minds the covenant between all and One. The Rainbow. H. VAUGHAN.


I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large,—where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morning's dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! Aurora Leigh, Bk. I. E.B. BROWNING.

Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow. Titus Andronicus, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

He furnished me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty dead; Sages of ancient time, as gods revered, As gods beneficent, who blest mankind With arts, with arms, and humanized a world. The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.

POLONIUS.—What do you read, my lord? HAMLET.—Words, words, words. Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought may bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything. Simon Lee. W. WORDSWORTH.

And choose an author as you choose a friend. Essay on Translated Verse. EARL OF ROSCOMMON.

When the last reader reads no more. The Last Reader. O.W. HOLMES.


All was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful: yet he pleased the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began. Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.

Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion. I. King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. Julius Caesar, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Whatever sceptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore. Hudibras, Pt. I. S. BUTLER.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason. Lines on his Promised Pension. E. SPENSER.


For who, alas! has lived, Nor in the watches of the night recalled Words he has wished unsaid and deeds undone? Reflections. S. ROGERS.

Thou wilt lament Hereafter, when the evil shall be done And shall admit no cure. Iliad, Bk. IX. HOMER. Trans. of BRYANT.

The man who seeks one thing in life, and but one, May hope to achieve it before life be done; But he who seeks all things, wherever he goes, Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sows A harvest of barren regrets. Lucile, Pt. 1. Canto II. LORD LYTTON (Owen Meredith).

O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting! O lost hours and days in which we might have been happy! Tales of a Wayside Inn: The Theologian's Tale. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Calmly he looked on either Life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear: From Nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfied. Thanked Heaven that he had lived, and that he died. Epitaph X. A. POPE.


God is not dumb, that he should speak no more; If thou hast wanderings in the wilderness And find'st not Sinai, 't is thy soul is poor. Bibliotres. J.R. LOWELL.

Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired. Expostulation. W. COWPER.

In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text. Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

I think while zealots fast and frown, And fight for two or seven, That there are fifty roads to town, And rather more to Heaven. Chant of Brazen Head. W.M. PRAED.

Religion stands on tiptoe in our land, Ready to pass to the American strand. The Church Militant. G. HERBERT.

A Christian is the highest type of man. Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.

Remote from man, with God he passed the days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. The Hermit. T. PARNELL.

Religion's all. Descending from the skies To wretched man, the goddess in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next. Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.

My God, my Father, and my Friend, Do not forsake me at my end. Translation of Dies Irae. EARL OF ROSCOMMON.


What exile from himself can flee? To zones though more and more remote Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life—the demon Thought. Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON.

Now conscience wakes despair That slumbered, wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be. Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.

Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

MACBETH.—Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart? DOCTOR.— Therein the patient Must minister to himself. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, A brother's murder. Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

How guilt once harbored in the conscious breast, Intimidates the brave, degrades the great. Irene, Act iv. Sc. 8. DR. S. JOHNSON.

High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! Fear for their scourge, mean villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave! Marmion, Canto III. SIR W. SCOTT.

Amid the roses, fierce Repentance rears Her snaky crest; a quick-returning pang Shoots through the conscious heart. The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.

There is no future pang Can deal that justice on the self-condemned He deals on his own soul. Manfred, Act iii. Sc. 1. LORD BYRON.


Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse, steals trash; 't is something, nothing; 'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. Othello, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Fear not the anger of the wise to raise, They best can bear reproof who merit praise. Essay on Criticism. A. POPE.

The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick. King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Convey a libel in a frown, And wink a reputation down! Journal of a Modern Lady. J. SWIFT.

After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honor from corruption. But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. King Henry VIII., Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then, must you speak Of one that loved, not wisely, but too well: Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme; of one, whose hand,

Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away, Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdued eyes, Albeit unused to the melting mood, Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum. Set you down this. Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

O God!—Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story. Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.


Behold, how brightly breaks the morning, Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm. Behold how brightly breaks. J. KENNEY.

God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness his doing: In common worldly things, 't is called ungrateful, With dull unwillingness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. King Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Thus ready for the way of life or death, I wait the sharpest blow. Pericles, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Winter's Tale, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things. Addressed to Sir G.H.B. W. WORDSWORTH.

Down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below! King Lear, Act ii. Sc 4. SHAKESPEARE.

'T is impious in a good man to be sad. Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown. To an Afflicted Protestant Lady. W. COWPER.

Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Now let us thank the Eternal Power: convinced That Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction,— That oft the cloud which wraps the present hour Serves but to brighten all our future days. Barbarossa, Act v. Sc. 3. J. BROWN.


Be stirring as the time: be fire with fire: Threaten the threatener and outface the brow Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. King John, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

My resolution 's placed, and I have nothing Of woman in me: now from head to foot I am marble—constant. Antony and Cleopatra, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

When two Join in the same adventure, one perceives Before the other how they ought to act; While one alone, however prompt, resolves More tardily and with a weaker will. Iliad, Bk. X. HOMER. Trans. of BRYANT.

I pull in resolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane." Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

In life's small things be resolute and great To keep thy muscle trained: know'st thou when Fate Thy measure takes, or when she'll say to thee, "I find thee worthy; do this deed for me"? Epigram. J.R. LOWELL.


Take thou of me, sweet pillowes, sweetest bed; A chamber deafe of noise, and blind of light, A rosie garland, and a weary hed. Astrophel and Stella. SIR PH. SIDNEY.

And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts, Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness. The Excursion, Bk. IV. W. WORDSWORTH.

The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, And, oft renewed, seemed oft to die, With breathless pause between, O who, with speech of war and woes, Would wish to break the soft repose Of such enchanting scene! Lord of the Isles, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT.

Our foster-nurse of Nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish. King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

These should be hours for necessities, Not for delights; times to repair our nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times. King Henry VIII., Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Who pants for glory finds but short repose; A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows. Epistles of Horace, Ep. I. Bk. I. J. DRYDEN.

Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all. Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.

Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed. Retirement. W. COWPER.


The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted—they have torn me, and I bleed; I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.

We but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.

Remember Milo's end, Wedged in that timber which he strove to rend. Essays on Translated Verse. W. DILLON.


Souls made of fire and children of the sun, With whom Revenge is virtue. The Revenge, Act V. DR. E. YOUNG

And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong. Mazeppa. LORD BYRON

Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Titus Andronicus, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc.. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Vengeance to God alone belongs; But when I think on all my wrongs, My blood is liquid flame. Marmion, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.

Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils. Paradise Lost, Bk. IX. MILTON.


I pray ye, flog them upon all occasions. It mends their morals, never mind the pain. Don Juan, Canto II. LORD BYRON.

Love is a boy by poets styled; Then spare the rod and spoil the child. Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto I. S. BUTLER.

Whipping, that's virtue's governess, Tutoress of arts and sciences; That mends the gross mistakes of nature, And puts new life into dull matter; That lays foundation for renown, And all the honors of the gown. Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto I. S. BUTLER.


Parent of golden dreams, Romance! Auspicious queen of childish joys, Who lead'st along, in airy dance, Thy votive train of girls and boys. To Romance. LORD BYRON.

He loved the twilight that surrounds The border-land of old romance; Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist, The dusk of centuries and of song. Tales of a Wayside Inn: Prelude. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance. A Narrow Girdle of Bough Stones. W. WORDSWORTH.

Romances paint at full length people's wooings, But only give a bust of marriages: For no one cares for matrimonial cooings. There 's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss. Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life? Don Juan, Canto III. LORD BYRON.


When beggars die there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. Julius Caesar, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

What infinite heart's ease Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy? And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? King Henry V., Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king. King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will. Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength. King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.


Far from gay cities and the ways of men. Odyssey, Bk. XIV. HOMER. Trans. of POPE.

But on and up, where Nature's heart Beats strong amid the hills. Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube. R.M. MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON.

They love the country, and none else, who seek For their own sake its silence and its shade. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Susceptible of pity or a mind Cultured and capable of sober thought? The Task, Bk. III. W. COWPER.

God made the country, and man made the town; What wonder then, that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bitter draught That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threatened in the fields and groves. The Task, Bk. I.: The Sofa. W. COWPER.

Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town. Summer. C.G. ROSSETTI.

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. The Task, Bk. I. W. COWPER.

At eve the ploughman leaves the task of day And, trudging homeward, whistles on the way: And the big-uddered cows with patience stand, And wait the strokings of the damsel's hand. Rural Sport. J. GAY.

Rustic mirth goes round; The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, Easily pleased; the long loud laugh sincere; The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid, On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep: The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes Of native music, the respondent dance. Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night. The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.

As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die! The Old Cumberland Beggar. W. WORDSWORTH.

O for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook. Politics and Poetics. L. HUNT.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace. The Castle of Indolence, Canto II. J. THOMSON.

And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion. The Sabbath Bells. C. LAMB.

The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, Sounds far an' near, An' through the simmer kintry tells Its tale o' cheer.

An' noo, to that melodious play, A' deidly awn the quiet sway— A' ken their solemn holiday, Bestial an' human, The singin' lintie on the brae, The restin' plou'man. A Lowden Sabbath Morn. R.L. STEVENSON.

Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss: Heaven once a week: The next world's gladness prepossest in this; A day to seek; Eternity in time. Sundays. H. VAUGHAN.

As palmers went to hail the niched seat At desert well, where they put off the shoon And robe of travel, so I, a pilgrim as they, Tired with my six-days' track, would turn aside Out of the scorch and glare into the shade Of Sunday-stillness. The Resting Place. M.J. PRESTON.

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. Hail, Sabbath! Thee I hail, the poor man's day. The Sabbath. J. GRAHAME.

Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure, He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor! Urania.. O.W. HOLMES.


Prepare for rhyme—I'll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.

Satire should, like a polished razor keen, Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen. To the Imitator of the first Satire of Horace. Bk. II. LADY M.W. MONTAGU.

Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck and tilt at all I meet. Second Book of Horace. A. POPE.

Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel, Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.


Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike. Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.

And there's a lust in man no charm can tame Of loudly publishing our neighbor's shame; On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly, While virtuous actions are but born and die. Satire IX. JUVENAL. Trans. of G. HARVEY.

There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. If true, a woful likeness; and, if lies, "Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise." Imitations of Horace, Epistle I. Bk. II. A. POPE.

A third interprets motions, looks and eyes; At every word a reputation dies. Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. Rape of the Lock, Canto III. A. POPE.

Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe. The Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.


The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand, Whistling aloud to bear his courage up. The Grave. R. BLAIR.

I do present you with a man of mine, Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences. Taming of the Shrew, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, Fit to instruct her youth.... ... for, to cunning men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing up. Taming of The Shrew, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Grave is the Master's look: his forehead wears Thick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares: Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule, His worst of all whose kingdom is a school. Supreme he sits; before the awful frown That binds his brows the boldest eye goes down; Not more submissive Israel heard and saw At Sinai's foot the Giver of the Law. The School-Boy. O.W. HOLMES.

Besides they always smell of bread and butter. Manfred. LORD BYRON.

You'd scarce expect one of my age To speak in public on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow, Tall oaks from little acorns grow. Lines written for a School Declamation. D. EVERETT.

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy! Childe Harold, Canto II. LORD BYRON.


While bright-eyed Science watches round. Ode for Music: Chorus. T. GRAY.

There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien, Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day, Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay,

* * * * *

O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair? Pleasures of Hope. T. CAMPBELL.

One science only will one genius fit, So vast is art, so narrow human wit. Essay on Criticism, Pt. I. A. POPE.

By the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind. The Hermit. J. BEATTIE.

I value science—none can prize it more, It gives ten thousand motives to adore: Be it religious, as it ought to be, The heart it humbles, and it bows the knee. The Microcosm: Christian Science. A. COLES.


Unpack my heart with words, And fall a cursing, like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon 't! Foh! Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Find all his having and his holding Reduced to eternal noise and scolding,— The conjugal petard that tears Down all portcullises of ears. Hudibras. S. BUTLER.

Abroad too kind, at home 't is steadfast hate, And one eternal tempest of debate. Love of Fame. DR. E. YOUNG.


As when, O lady mine, With chiselled touch The stone unhewn and cold Becomes a living mould, The more the marble wastes The more the statue grows. Sonnet. M. ANGELO. Trans. of MRS. H. ROSCOE.

Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live. Michael Angelo. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

So stands the statue that enchants the world, So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. The Seasons: Summer. J. THOMSON.

And the cold marble leapt to life a god. The Belvedere Apollo. H.H. MILMAN.

Or view the lord of the unerring bow, The god of life, and poesy, and light.— The sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; The shaft hath just been shot,—the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.

But in his delicate form—a dream of love, Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Longed for a deathless lover from above, And maddened in that vision—are exprest All that ideal beauty ever blessed The mind within its most unearthly mood, When each conception was a heavenly guest, A ray of immortality, and stood, Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god! Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.


Ocean! great image of eternity, And yet of fleeting time, of change, unrest, Thou vast and wondrous realm of mystery, Of thy great teachings too is man possessed. Type of God's boundless might, the here and there Uniting, thou dost with a righteous fear Man's heart ennoble, awe, and purify, As in thy mighty, multitudinous tones echoes of God roll by. Nature and Man. J.W. MILES.

What are the wild waves saying, Sister, the whole day long, That ever amid our playing I hear but their low, lone song? What are the Wild Waves Saying? J.B. CARPENTER.

The land is dearer for the sea, The ocean for the shore. On the Beach. L. LARCOM.

Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea. The Ocean. J. MONTGOMERY.

There the sea I found Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound. The Revolt of Islam, Canto I. P.B. SHELLEY.

And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be, The waters gurgle longingly, As if they fain would seek the shore, To be at rest from the ceaseless roar, To be at rest forevermore. The Sirens. J.R. LOWELL.

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