Chapter VIII: Part 8

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.

MURDER.

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.

MUSIC.

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.

NAME.

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.]

NATURE.

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.

NIGHT.

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 charmèd body
Almost like spirit be.
And give it some faint glimpses
Of immortality!
_Midnight_. J.R. LOWELL.

NOBILITY.

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 Cæsar;
He only, in a general honest thought
And common good to all, made one of them.
_Julius Cæsar, Act v. Sc 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

OPINION.

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.

OPPORTUNITY.

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.

ORATORY.

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.

ORDER.

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.

PAIN.

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.

PAINTING.

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.

PARTING.

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 Cæsar, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

PASSION.

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.

PAST, THE.

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.

PATIENCE.

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 Cæsar, 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.

PATRIOTISM.

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.

PEACE.

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 mailèd fleets and armèd 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.

PEN.

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.

PEOPLE, THE.

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.

PERFECTION.

To gild refinèd 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.

PERFUME.

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.

PERSONAL.

CHAUCER.

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

EARL OF WARWICK.

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

GALILEO.

The starry Galileo, with his woes.
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

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.

EDMUND SPENSER.

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.

FRANCIS, LORD BACON.

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

BEN JONSON.

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.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

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

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

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.

EARL OF MARLBOROUGH.

[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.

JOHN WICKLIFFE.

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.

JOHN MILTON.

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.

OLIVER CROMWELL.

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.

KING CHARLES II.

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.

MARTIN LUTHER.

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.

THOMAS CHATTERTON.

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

JAMES THOMSON.

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 lothèd much to write, he carèd 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.

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

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.

SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

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

DAVID GARRICK.

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.

EDMUND BURKE.

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.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

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.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

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

DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

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.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

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.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

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.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

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.

CARLYLE AND EMERSON.

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.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

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.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

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.

PHILOSOPHY.

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.

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.

PLEASURE.

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.

POET, THE.

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.

POETRY.

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.