Chapter II: Part 2

INDEX OF TOPICS, WITH CROSS-REFERENCES

LIST OF AUTHORS QUOTED

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

POETICAL QUOTATIONS

GENERAL INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES

GENERAL INDEX OF FIRST LINES AND TITLES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

ALEXANDER POPE _Frontispiece_ _After photograph from a portrait_.

JOHN GODFREY SAXE _After a photograph from life_.

JOHN DRYDEN _From an engraving after a painting by Hudson, in Trinity College, Cambridge, England_.

SAMUEL, BUTLER _After an engraving from contemporary portrait_.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL _From an etching after a life-photograph_.

VICTOR MARIE HUGO _After a life-photograph of Waléry, Paris_,

POETICAL QUOTATIONS

"_Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first quoter of it.... We are as much informed of a writer's genius by what he selects as by what he originates_."--R.W. EMERSON.

From "QUOTATION AND ORIGINALITY."

ABSENCE.

'T is said that absence conquers love;
But oh! believe it not.
I've tried, alas! its power to prove,
But thou art not forgot.
_Absence Conquers Love_. F.W. THOMAS.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder;
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!
_Isle of Beauty_. T.H. BAYLY.

Though absent, present in desires they be;
Our souls much further than our eyes can see.
_Sonnet_. M. DRAYTON.

There's not a wind but whispers of thy name.
_Mirandola_. B.W. PROCTER.

Short absence hurt him more,
And made his wound far greater than before;
Absence not long enough to root out quite
All love, increases love at second sight.
_Henry II_. T. MAY.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere.
_Sonnet XCVII_. SHAKESPEARE.

Days of absence, sad and dreary,
Clothed in sorrow's dark array,--
Days of absence, I am weary;
She I love is far away.
_Days of Absence_, J.J. ROUSSEAU.

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years;
And every little absence is an age.
_Amphictrion_. J. DRYDEN.

What! keep a week away? Seven days and nights?
Eightscore eight hours? And lovers' absent hours
More tedious than the dial eightscore times?
O, weary reckoning!
_Othello. Act_ iii. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Long did his wife,
Suckling her babe, her only one, look out
The way he went at parting,--but he came not!
_Italy_. S. ROGERS.

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop that, night and day
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
_Lalla Rookh: Veiled Prophet of Khorassan_. T. MOORE.

Condemned whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more.
_Eloise to Abélard_. A. POPE.

ACTION.

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,
Unless the deed go with it.
_Macbeth, Act_. iv. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

If our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched,
But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence.
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor--
Both thanks and use.
_Measure for Measure, Act_ i. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

We must not stint
Our necessary actions, in the fear
To cope malicious censurers.
_King Henry VIII., Act_ i. _Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
_Merchant of Venice, Act_ v. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Our acts our angels are, or good or ill.
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
_An Honest Man's Fortune_. J. FLETCHER.

ADMIRATION.

She is pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.
_Brennoralt, Act_ ii. SIR J. SUCKLING.

But from the hoop's bewitching round,
Her very shoe has power to wound.
_Fables: The Spider and the Bee_. E. MOORE.

That eagle's fate and mine are one.
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
_To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing_. E. WALLER.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
_Romeo and Juliet, Act_ ii. _Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

The light that lies
In woman's eyes.
_The time I've lost in Wooing_. T. MOORE.

Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?
_The Fair Penitent, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 1. N. ROWE.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
_Faustus_. C. MARLOWE.

The dimple that thy chin contains has beauty in its round
That never has been fathomed yet by myriad thoughts profound.
_Odes, CXLIII_. HAFIZ.

Beauty stands
In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes
Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy,
At every sudden slighting quite abashed.
_Paradise Regained, Bk. II_. MILTON.

ADORNMENT.

The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
_Sonnet LXX_. SHAKESPEARE.

A native grace
Sat fair-proportioned in her polished limbs,
Veiled in a simple robe their best attire.
Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most.
_The Seasons: Autumn_. J. THOMSON.

She's adorned
Amply that in her husband's eye looks lovely,--
The truest mirror that an honest wife
Can see her beauty in.
_The Honeymoon, Act iii. Sc. 4_. J. TOBIN.

Terrible he rode alone,
With his Yemen sword for aid;
Ornament it carried none,
But the notches on the blade.
_The Death Feud. An Arab War Song.
Anonymous Translation_.

ADVENTURE.

Naught venture, naught have. _Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry. October's Abstract_. T. TUSSER.

We must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
_Julius Cæsar, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Fierce warres, and faithful loves shall moralize my song.
_Faërie Queene, Bk. I. Proem_. E. SPENSER.

Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honor cross it from the north to south,
And let them grapple: O! the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

* * * * *

By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks.
_K. Henry IV., Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

A wild dedication of yourselves
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
_Winter's Tale, Act_ iv. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

ADVERSITY.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
_As You Like It, Act_ i. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Calamity is man's true touchstone. _Four Plays in One: The Triumph of Honor, Sc_. 1. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. VII_. MILTON.

Tho' losses and crosses
Be lessons right severe,
There's wit there, ye'll get there,
Ye'll find nae otherwhere.
_Epistle to Davie_. R. BURNS.

By adversity are wrought
The greatest work of admiration,
And all the fair examples of renown
Out of distress and misery are grown.
_On the Earl of Southampton_. S. DANIEL.

Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crushed or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.
_The Captivity, Act_ i. O. GOLDSMITH.

The Good are better made by Ill,
As odors crushed are sweeter still.
_Jacqueline_. S. ROGERS.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast.
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
_Hymn to Adversity_. T. GRAY.

'T is better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content.
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.
_King Henry VIII., Act_ ii. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

As if Misfortune made the throne her seat,
And none could be unhappy but the great.
_The Fair Penitent: Prologue_. N. ROWE.

None think the great unhappy, but the great.
_Love of Fame, Satire I_. DR. E. YOUNG.

My pride fell with my fortunes.
_As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

We have seen better days.
_Timon of Athens, Act iv. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

If ever you have looked on better days;
If ever been where bells have knolled to church.
_As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic Summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
_King Richard II., Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
_King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Eating the bitter bread of banishment.
_King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
_Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 8_. SHAKESPEARE.

Lord of himself,--that heritage of woe!
_Lara, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

Lord of thy presence, and no land beside.
_King John, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,
But most chastises those whom most he likes.
_Verses to his Friend under Affliction_. J. POMFRET.

As sunshine, broken in the rill,
Though turned astray, is sunshine still.
_Fire Worshippers_. T. MOORE.

On Fortune's cap we are not the very button.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Cheered up himself with ends of verse,
And sayings of philosophers.
_Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III_. S. BUTLER.

O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
_Despondency_. R. BURNS.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity.
_Comedy of Errors, Act ii. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress;
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
_A Winter Night_. R. BURNS.

Henceforth I'll bear
Affliction till it do cry out itself,
Enough, enough, and die.
_King Lear, Act iv. Sc_. 6. SHAKESPEARE.

On me, on me
Time and change can heap no more!
The painful past with blighting grief
Hath left my heart a withered leaf.
Time and change can do no more.
_Dirge_. R.H. HORNE.

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend,
For when at worst, they say, things always mend.
_To a Friend in Distress_. DR. J. OWEN.

The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.
_Macbeth, Act ii. Sc_. 8. SHAKESPEARE.

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before.
_Macbeth, Act iv. Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

I am not now in fortune's power;
He that is down can fall no lower.
_Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III_. S. BUTLER.

The worst is not
So long as we can say, _This is the worst.
King Lear, Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

ADVICE.

The worst men often give the best advice.
Our deeds are sometimes better than our thoughts,
_Festus: Sc. A Village Feast_. P.J. BAILEY.

I pray thee cease thy counsel.
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve.
_Much Ado About Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

O Life! how pleasant in thy morning.
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
We frisk away,
Like schoolboys at th' expected warning,
To joy and play.
_Epistle to James Smith_. B. BURNS.

Know when to speake; for many times it brings
Danger to give the best advice to kings.
_Hesperides' Caution in Councell._ R. HEBRICK.

AGE.

I'm growing fonder of my staff;
I'm growing dimmer in the eyes;
I'm growing fainter in my laugh;
I'm growing deeper in my sighs;
I'm growing careless of my dress;
I'm growing frugal of my gold;
I'm growing wise; I'm growing,--yes,--
I'm growing old.
_I'm Growing Old_. J.G. SAXE.

And his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
_As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

Time has laid his hand
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
_The Golden Legend, IV_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Years steal
Fire from the mind, as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
_Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
Steals ere we can effect them.
_All's Well that Ends Well, Act v. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Strange! that a harp of thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Bk. II_. DR. I. WATTS.

Thus aged men, full loth and slow,
The vanities of life forego,
And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till Memory lends her light no more.
_Rokeby, Canto V_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly.
_As You Like, It. Act_ ii. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away.
_Vanity of Human Wishes_. DR. S. JOHNSON.

Who soweth good seed shall surely reap;
The year grows rich as it groweth old,
And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
_To the "Bouquet Club."_ J.C.R. DORR.

The spring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,
But autumn makes them ripe and fit for use:
So Age a mature mellowness doth set
On the green promises of youthful heat.
_Cato Major, Pt. IV_. SIR J. DENHAM.

My May of life
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
_Macbeth, Act_ v. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from life's page,
And be alone on earth as I am now.
_Childe Harold, Canto II_. LORD BYRON.

His silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds;
It shall be said--his judgment ruled our hands.
_Julius Cæsar, Act_ ii. _Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
_King Lear, Act i. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop
Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease
Gathered, not harshly plucked for death mature.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. XI_. MILTON.

AIR.

DUNCAN. This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

BANQUO.... The heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,
The air is delicate.
_Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 6_. SHAKESPEARE.

Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs
Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings
Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. VIII_. MILTON.

HAMLET. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

HORATIO. It is a nipping and an 'eager air.
_Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

The parching air
Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer's noontide air.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. IX_, MILTON.

Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
_Gotham, Bk. II_. C. CHURCHILL.

AMBITION.

Ambition is our idol, on whose wings
Great minds are carried only to extreme;
To be sublimely great, or to be nothing.
_The Loyal Brother, Act i. Sc. 1_. T. SOUTHERNE.

To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Rather than be less
Cared not to be at all.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.
_Julius Cæsar, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent; but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.
_Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand,
And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
_Absalom and Achitophel, Pt. I_. J. DRYDEN.

Ambition's monstrous stomach does increase
By eating, and it fears to starve unless
It still may feed, and all it sees devour.
_Playhouse to Let_. SIR W. DAVENANT.

But see how oft ambition's aims are crossed,
And chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!
_Rape of the Lock, Canto V_. A. POPE.

O, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,
By mountains piled on mountains to the skies?
Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
_Essay on Man, Epistle IV_. A. POPE.

The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow
of a dream.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Why then doth flesh, a bubble-glass of breath,
Hunt after honour and advancement vain,
And rear a trophy for devouring death?
_Ruins of Time_. E. SPENSER.

Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise
By mountains piled on mountains to the skies?
Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
_Essay on Man_. A. POPE.

ANGEL.

In this dim world of clouding cares,
We rarely know, till 'wildered eyes
See white wings lessening up the skies,
The Angels with us unawares.
_Ballad of Babe Christabel_. G. MASSEY.

Around our pillows golden ladders rise,
And up and down the skies,
With wingèd sandals shod,
The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God!
Nor, though they fade from us, do they depart--
It is the childly heart:
We walk as heretofore,
Adown their shining ranks, but see them nevermore.
_Hymn to the Beautiful_. R.H. STODDARD.

For God will deign
To visit oft the dwellings of just men
Delighted, and with frequent intercourse
Thither will send his wingèd messengers
On errands of supernal grace.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. VII_. MILTON.

But sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.
_The Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMPBELL.

What though my wingèd hours of bliss have been,
Like angel-visits, few and far between.
_The Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMPBELL.

ANGER.

Anger is like
A full-hot horse; who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him.
_King Henry VIII., Act i. Sc 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Being once chased, he cannot
Be reined again to temperance; then he speaks
What's in his heart.
_Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself,

* * * * *

But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towering passion.
_Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Senseless, and deformed,
Convulsive Anger storms at large; or, pale
And silent, settles into fell revenge.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

Be advised;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: we may outrun.
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-running.
_King Henry VIII., Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Never anger made good guard for itself.
_Antony and Cleopatra, Act iv. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

ANGLING.

All's fish they get
That cometh to net.
_Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry_. T. TUSSER.

In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade,
Where cooling vapors breathe along the mead,
The patient fisher takes his silent stand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand;
With looks unmoved, he hopes the scaly breed,
And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed.
_Windsor Forest_. A. POPE.

Now is the time,
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile,
To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly,
The rod fine tapering with elastic spring,
Snatched from the hoary steed the floating line,
And all thy slender wat'ry stores prepare.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

Just in the dubious point, where with the pool
Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils
Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow,
There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly;
And as you lead it round in artful curve,
With eye attentive mark the springing game.
Straight as above the surface of the flood
They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap,
Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook:
Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank,
And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some,
With various hand proportioned to their force.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

Give me mine angle, we'll to the river; there,
My music playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-finned fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their shiny jaws.
_Antony and Cleopatra, Act_ ii. _Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

His angle-rod made of a sturdy oak;
His line a cable which in storms ne'er broke;
His hook he baited with a dragon's tail,
And sat upon a rock, and bobbed for whale.
_Upon a Giant's Angling_. W. KING.

ANIMALS.

A harmless necessary cat.
_Merchant of Venice, Act_ iv. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Confound the cats! All cats--alway--
Cats of all colors, black, white, gray;
By night a nuisance and by day--
Confound the cats!
_A Dithyramb on Cats_. O.T. DOBBIN.

I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
_On the Collar of a Dog_. A. POPE.

The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.
_King Lear, Act_ iii _Sc_. 6. SHAKESPEARE.

How, in his mid-career, the spaniel struck,
Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose,
Outstretched and finely sensible, draws full,
Fearful and cautious, on the latent prey.
_The Seasons: Autumn_. J. THOMSON.

A horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse!
_King Richard III., Act_ v. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

The courser pawed the ground with restless feet,
And snorting foamed, and champed the golden bit.
_Palamon and Arcite, Pt. III_. J. DRYDEN.

Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack.
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
_Venus and Adonis_. SHAKESPEARE.

Oft in this season too the horse, provoked
While his big sinews full of spirits swell,
Trembling with vigor, in the heat of blood,
Springs the high fence.... his nervous chest,
Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength!
_The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.

Champing his foam, and bounding o'er the plain,
Arch his high neck, and graceful spread his mane.
_The Courser_. SIR R. BLACKMORE.

Is it the wind those branches stirs?
No, no! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop; I see them come!
In one vast squadron they advance!
I strove to cry,--my lips were dumb.
The steeds rush on in plunging pride;
But where are they the reins to guide!
A thousand horse,--and none to ride!
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils, never stretched by pain,
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on.
_Mazeppa_. LORD BYRON.

I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek.
That hath but oon hole for to sterte to.
_Preamble, Wyves Tale of Bath_. CHAUCER.

When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blast follow blasts and groves dismantled roar;
Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows,
No nourishment in frozen pasture grows.
_The Farmer's Boy: Winter_. R. BLOOMFIELD.

Rural confusion! on the grassy bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the flood, and, often bending, sip
The circling surface. In the middle droops
The strong laborious ox, of honest front,
Which incomposed he shakes; and from his sides
The troublous insects lashes with his tail,
Returning still.
_The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.

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.

ANTHOLOGY.

Infinite riches in a little room.
_The Jew of Malta, Act i_. C. MARLOWE.

APPARITION.

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.

APPEARANCE.

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 aërial 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 Cæsar, 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.

ARCHITECTURE.

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.

ARGUMENT.

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.

ARISTOCRACY.

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.

ART.

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.

ASPIRATION.

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.

AUTHORITY.

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.

AUTHORSHIP.

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 Cæsar 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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

BABY.

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.

BATTLE.

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.

BEAUTY.

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.

BELL.

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 learnèd 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.

BIBLE.

My Book and Heart
Must never part.
_New England Primer_.

Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!

* * * * *

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.

BIRDS.

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.