The World's Best Poetry -- Volume 10

Part 3 out of 10

_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Look here, upon this picture, and on this;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow:
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.
_Hamlet, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Ay, every inch a king.
_King Lear, Act_ iv. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.


When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection.
_Henry IV., Pt. II. Act_ i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

The hasty multitude
Admiring entered, and the work some praise,
And some the architect: his hand was known
In heaven by many a towered structure high,
Where sceptred angels held their residence,
And sat as princes.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Old houses mended,
Cost little less than new, before they're ended.
_Prologue to the Double Gallant_. . C. GIBBER.

The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and their lives
Were builded, with his own, into the walls,
As offerings unto God.
_The Golden Legend, Pt. III. In the Cathedral_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.


He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse.
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a Lord may be an owl,
A calf an Alderman, a goose a Justice,
And rooks, Committee-men or Trustees.
_Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto I_. S. BUTLER.

Reproachful speech from either side
The want of argument supplied:
They rail, reviled; as often ends
The contests of disputing friends.
_Fables: Sexton and Earth Worm_. J. GAY.

Be calm in arguing; for fierceness makes
Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.
_The Temple: The Church Porch_. C. HERBERT.

In argument
Similes are like songs in love;
They must describe; they nothing prove.
_Alma, Canto III_. M. PRIOR.

One single positive weighs more,
You know, than negatives a score.
_Epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd_. M. PRIOR.

Who shall decide, when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
_Moral Essays, Epistle III_. A. POPE.


How vain are all hereditary honors,
Those poor possessions from another's deeds.
_Parricide_. J. SHIRLEY.

He lives to build, not boast, a generous race;
No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.
_The Bastard_. R. SAVAGE.

Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
But leave us still our old nobility.
_England's Trust, Pt. III_. LORD J. MANNERS.

Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty, and virtue,
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of Nature's own creating.
_Coriolanus, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 3. J. THOMSON.

Fond man! though all the heroes of your line
Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine
In proud display; yet take this truth from me--
_Virtue alone is true nobility!
Satire VIII_. JUVENAL. _Trans. of_ GIFFORD.

Boast not the titles of your ancestors, brave youth!
They're their possessions, none of yours.
_Catiline_. B. JONSON.

Nobler is a limited command
Given by the love of all your native land,
Than a successive title, long and dark,
Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark.
_Absalom and Achitophel, I_. J. DRYDEN.

As though there were a tie,
And obligation to posterity!
We get them, bear them, breed and nurse.
What has posterity done for us,
That we, lest they their rights should lose,
Should trust our necks to gripe of noose?
_McFingal, Canto II_ J. TRUMBULL.

They that on glorious ancestors enlarge,
Produce their debt, instead of their discharge.
_Love of Fame, Satire I_. DR. E. YOUNG.

Few sons attain the praise of their great sires, and most
their sires disgrace.
_Odyssey, Bk. II_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ POPE.

He stands for fame on his forefather's feet,
By heraldry, proved valiant or discreet I
_Love of Fame, Satire I_. DR. E. YOUNG.

Great families of yesterday we show,
And lords whose parents were the Lord knows who.
_The True-Born Englishman, Pt. I_. D. DEFOE.


For Art is Nature made by Man
To Man the interpreter of God.
_The Artist_. LORD LYTTON (_Owen Meredith_).

In the elder days of Art.
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere.
_The Builders_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,
And to be swift is less than to be wise.
'Tis more by art, than force of numerous strokes.
_Iliad, Bk. XXIII_. HOMER. _Trans_. of POPE.

His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.
_Retaliation (Sir Joshua Reynolds)_. O. GOLDSMITH.

Around the mighty master came
The marvels which his pencil wrought,
Those miracles of power whose fame
Is wide as human thought.
_Raphael_. J.G. WHITTIER.


Oh! could I throw aside these earthly bands
That tie me down where wretched mortals sigh--
To join blest spirits in celestial lands!
_To Laura in Death_. PETRARCH.

Happy the heart that keeps its twilight hour,
And, in the depths of heavenly peace reclined,
Loves to commune with thoughts of tender power,--
Thoughts that ascend, like angels beautiful,
A shining Jacob's ladder of the mind!
_Sonnet IX_. P.H. HAYNE.

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
_To ----: One word is too often profaned_. P.B. SHELLEY.

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
_In Memoriam, I_. A. TENNYSON.


The rule
Of the many is not well. One must be chief
In war and one the king.
_Iliad, Bk. II_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ BRYANT.

Authority intoxicates,
And makes mere sots of magistrates;
The fumes of it invade the brain,
And make men giddy, proud, and vain.
_Miscellaneous Thoughts_. S. BUTLER.

Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar,
And the creature run from the cur: There,
There, thou might'st behold the great image of authority;
A dog's obeyed in office.
_King Lear, Act_ iv. _Sc_. 6. SHAKESPEARE.

O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
_Much Ado about Nothing, Act_ iv. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
_Don Juan, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length one general cry
Tickle and entertain us, or we die!
_Retirement_. W. COWPER.

The unhappy man, who once has trailed a pen,
Lives not to please himself, but other men;
Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood,
Yet only eats and drinks what you think good.
_Prologue to Lee's Caesar Borgia_. J. DRYDEN.

Lest men suspect your tale untrue
Keep probability in view.
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
_The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody_. J. GAY.

Immodest words admit of no defence.
For want of decency is want of sense.

* * * * *

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.


A sweet, new blossom of Humanity,
Fresh fallen from God's own home to flower on earth.
_Wooed and Won_. G. MASSEY.

The hair she means to have is gold,
Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old,
Plump are her fists and pinky.
She fluttered down in lucky hour
From some blue deep in yon sky bower--
I call her "Little Dinky."
_Little Dinky_. F. LOCKER-LAMPSON.

As living jewels dropped unstained from heaven.
_Course of Time, Bk. V_. R. POLLOK.

God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
_Romeo and Juliet, Act_ i. _So_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving:
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting!
_The Gypsy's Malison_. C. LAMB.


Now the storm begins to lower,
(Haste, the loom of hell prepare,)
Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darkened air.

Glittering lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randoer's bane.
_The Fatal Sisters_. T. GRAY.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud;
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
_The Dance of Death_. SIR W. SCOTT.

He made me mad
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed.
_K. Henry IV., Pt. I. Act i. Sc.3_ SHAKESPEARE.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there)
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery.
Their various arms that glitter in the air!
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey!
All join the chase, but few the triumph share;
The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
_Childe Harold, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

From the glittering staff unfurled
Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanced,
Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind,
With gems and golden lustre rich imblazed,
Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds:
At which the universal host upsent
A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war.
_Alexander the Great, Act iv. Sc. 2_. N. LEE.

That voice ... heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle when it raged.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. 1_. MILTON.

Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
_King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 8_. SHAKESPEARE.

We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns,
And pass them current too. God's me, my horse!
_King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Never be it said
That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.
Hence, babbling dreams; you threaten here in vain;
Conscience, avaunt, Richard's himself again!
Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds. To horse! away!
My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray.
_Shakespeare's Richard III. (Altered), Act. v. Sc. 3_. C. GIBBER.


Is she not passing fair?
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iv. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

And she is fair, and fairer than that word.
_Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
_As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet.
_Cymon and Iphigenia_. J. DRYDEN.

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.
_Romeo and Juliet, Act i. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

A rosebud set with little wilful thorns.
And sweet as English air could make her, she.
_The Princess_. A. TENNYSON.

Thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty.
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor soar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
_Othello, Act v. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

No longer shall thy bodice, aptly laced.
From thy full bosom to thy slender waist,
That air and harmony of shape express,
Fine by degrees, and beautifully less.
_Henry and Emma_. M. PRIOR.

The beautiful are never desolate;
But some one always loves them--God or man.
If man abandons, God himself takes them.
_Festus: Sc. Water and Wood_. P.J. BAILEY.

There's nothing that allays an angry mind
So soon as a sweet beauty.
_The Elder Brother, Act iii. Sc. 5_. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

The beautiful seems right
By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong
Because of weakness.
_Aurora Leigh_. E.B. BROWNING.

How near to good is what is fair,
Which we no sooner see,
But with the lines and outward air
Our senses taken be.
We wish to see it still, and prove
What ways we may deserve;
We court, we praise, we more than love,
We are not grieved to serve.
_Love Freed from Ignorance and Folly_. B. JONSON.

There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.
_Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall.
And most divinely fair.
_A Dream of Fair Women_. A. TENNYSON.

Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded.
But must be current, and the good thereof
Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
Unsavory in th' enjoyment of itself:
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose,
It withers on the stalk with languished head.
_Comus_. MILTON.

Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self.
_The Seasons: Autumn_. J. THOMSON.

In beauty, faults conspicuous grow;
The smallest speck is seen on snow.
_Fables: Peacock, Turkey, and Goose_. J. GAY.

The maid who modestly conceals
Her beauties, while she hides, reveals:
Gives but a glimpse, and fancy draws
Whate'er the Grecian Venus was.
_The Spider and the Bee_. E. MOORE.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass that 's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
_The Passionate Pilgrim_. SHAKESPEARE.


Tuned be its metal mouth alone
To things eternal and sublime.
And as the swift-winged hours speed on
May it record the flight of time!
_Song of the Bell_. F. SCHILLER.
_Trans_. E.A. BOWRING.

The bells themselves are the best of preachers,
Their brazen lips are learned teachers,
From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air,
Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw,
Shriller than trumpets under the Law,
Now a sermon and now a prayer.
_Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. III_.

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_.

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.


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_.


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_.

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.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O, 'tis the ravished nightingale--
Jug, jug, jug, jug--tereu--she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear,
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark! but what a pretty note,
Poor Robin-redbreast tunes his throat;
Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing
"Cuckoo!" to welcome in the spring.
_Alexander and Campaspe, Act v. Sc. 1_. JOHN LYLY.

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,

* * * * *

Portend success in love.
_To the Nightingale_. MILTON.

O honey-throated warbler of the grove!
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love.
_To the Nightingale_. C.T. TURNER.

Lend me your song, ye Nightingales! O, pour
The mazy-running soul of melody
Into my varied verse.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection.
_Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
_Macbeth, Act_ ii. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
_The White Devil, Act_ v. _Sc. 2_. J. WEBSTER.

Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow,
And humbler growths as moved with one desire
Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,
Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay
With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
_Poor Robin_. W. WORDSWORTH.

The swallow twitters about the eaves;
Blithely she sings, and sweet and clear;
Around her climb the woodbine leaves
In a golden atmosphere.
_The Swallow_ C. THAXTER.

The stately-sailing swan
Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale;
And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet
Rears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle,
Protective of his young.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.


Blessings star forth forever; but a curse
Is like a cloud--it passes.
_Festus: Sc. Hades_. P.J. BAILEY.

To heal divisions, to relieve the oppressed,
In virtue rich; in blessing others, blessed.
_Odyssey, Bk. VII_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ POPE.

Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed,
Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes
Expanded, shine with azure, green, and gold;
How blessings brighten as they take their flight!
_Night Thoughts, Night II_. DR. E. YOUNG.

In the nine heavens are eight Paradises;
Where is the ninth one? In the human breast.
Only the blessed dwell in the Paradises,
But blessedness dwells in the human breast.
_Oriental Poetry: The Ninth Paradise_. W.R. ALGER.


Who has not seen that feeling born of flame
Crimson the cheek at mention of a name?
The rapturous touch of some divine surprise
Flash deep suffusion of celestial dyes:
When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed
And the heart's secret was at once confessed?
_The Microcosm: Man_. A. COLES.

By noting of the lady I have marked
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes.
_Much Ado About Nothing, Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks,
Ten thousand little loves and graces spring
To revel in the roses.
_Tamerlane, Act_ i. _Sc_. 1. N. ROWE.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek,
Young roses kindled into thought.
_Evenings in Greece: Evening II. Song_. T. MOORE.

The rising blushes, which her cheek o'erspread,
Are opening roses in the lily's bed.
_Dione, Act_ ii. _Sc_. 3. J. GAY.

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;
They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,
And flare up bodily, wings and all.
_Aurora Leigh_. E.B. BROWNING.

The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
_Night Thoughts, Night VII_. DR. E. YOUNG.


Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time,
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at Saint Ann's our parting hymn;
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight's past!
_A Canadian Boat Song_. T. MOORE.

And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
_Bermudas_. A. MARVELL.

Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat,
Just parted from the shore,
And to the fisher's chorus-note,
Soft moves the dipping oar!
_Oh, Swiftly glides the Bonnie Boat_. J. BAILLIE.

Learn of the little nautilus to sail,
Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.
_Essay on Man, Epistle III_. A. POPE.

On the great streams the ships may go
About men's business to and fro.
But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep
On crystal waters ankle-deep:
I, whose diminutive design,
Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine,
Is fashioned on so frail a mould,
A hand may launch, a hand withhold:
I, rather, with the leaping trout
Wind, among lilies, in and out;
I, the unnamed, inviolate.
Green, rustic rivers navigate.
_The Canoe Speaks_. R.L. STEVENSON.

Row us forth! Unfurl thy sail!
What care we for tempest blowing?
Let us kiss the blustering gale!
Let us breast the waters flowing!
Though the North rush cold and loud,
Love shall warm and make us merry;
Though the waves all weave a shroud,
We will dare the Humber ferry!
_The Humber Ferry_. B.W. PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall_).


Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good;
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
_Personal Talk_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Silent companions of the lonely hour,
Friends, who can alter or forsake.
Who for inconstant roving have no power,
And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take.
_To My Books_. MRS. C. NORTON.

Some books are drenched sands,
On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,
Like a wrecked argosy.
_A Life Drama_. ALEX. SMITH.

Worthy books
Are not companions--they are solitudes:
We lose ourselves in them and all our cares.
_Festus: Sc. A Village Feast. Evening_. P.J. BAILEY.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. LORD BYRON.

Golden volumes! richest treasures,
Objects of delicious pleasures!
You my eyes rejoicing please,
You my hands in rapture seize!
Brilliant wits and musing sages,
Lights who beamed through many ages!
Left to your conscious leaves their story,
And dared to trust you with their glory;
And now their hope of fame achieved,
Dear volumes! you have not deceived!
_Curiosities of Literature. Libraries_. I. DISRAELI.

That place that does contain
My books, the best companions, is to me
A glorious court, where hourly I converse
With the old sages and philosophers.
_The Elder Brother, Act_ i. _Sc_. 2.


Who goeth a-borrowing,
Goeth a-sorrowing.
_Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry. June's Abstract_. T. TUSSER.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
_Hamlet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

It is a very good world to live in,
To lend, or to spend, or to give in;
But to beg or to borrow, or to get a man's own,
It is the very worst world that ever was known.
_Attributed to_ EARL OF ROCHESTER.


O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!
_King John, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth.
_Don Juan, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And there a chancellor in embryo.
_The Schoolmistress_. W. SHENSTONE.

Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
This little abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief unto as large a volume.
_King John, Act ii. Sc 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

O, 'tis a parlous boy;
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable;
He is all the mother's from the top to toe.
_Richard III., Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy mother.
_Love's Cure, Act ii. Sc. 2_. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

But strive still to be a man before your mother.
_Motto of No. III. Connoisseur_. W. COWPER.


When one is past, another care we have;
Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
_Sorrows Succeed_. R. HERRICK.

Old Care has a mortgage on every estate,
And that's what you pay for the wealth that you get.
_Gifts of the Gods_. J.G. SAXE.

O polished perturbation! golden care!
That keepest the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night!
_K. Henry IV., Pt. II. Act iv. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

Let one unceasing, earnest prayer
Be, too, for light,--for strength to bear
Our portion of the weight of care,
That crushes into dumb despair
One half the human race.
_The Goblet of Life_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Let the world slide, let the world go:
A fig for care, and a fig for woe!
If I can't pay, why I can owe,
And death makes equal the high and low.
_Be Merry Friends_. J. HEYWOOD.

Begone, dull Care, I prithee begone from me;
Begone, dull Care, thou and I shall never agree.
_Begone, Old Care_. PLAYFORD'S _Musical Companion_.


That power
Which erring men call Chance.
_Comus_. MILTON.

Chance will not do the work--Chance sends the breeze;
But if the pilot slumber at the helm,
The very wind that wafts us towards the port
May dash us on the shelves.--The steersman's part is vigilance,
Blow it or rough or smooth.
_Fortunes of Nigel_. SIR w. SCOTT.

I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through the ashes of my chance.
_Antony and Cleopatra, Act_ v. _Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

And grasps the skirts of happy chance.
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
_In Memoriam, LXIII_. A. TENNYSON.

You'll see that, since our fate is ruled by chance,
Each man, unknowing, great,
Should frame life so that at some future hour
Fact and his dreamings meet.
_To His Orphan Grandchildren_. V. HUGO.


Weep not that the world changes--did it keep
A stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.
_Mutation_. W.C. BRYANT.

Manners with fortunes, humors turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times.
_Moral Essays, Epistle I. Pt. II_. A. POPE.

As hope and fear alternate chase
Our course through life's uncertain race.
_Rokeby, Canto VI_. SIR W. SCOTT.

This world is not for aye, nor 't is not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes change.
_Hamlet, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Man's wretched state,
That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
_Faerie Queene, Bk. III. Canto IX_. E. SPENSER.

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!
_Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge, another bears.
_To Men of England_. P.B. SHELLEY.

The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies:
What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
_Mutability_. P.B. SHELLEY.

Sometimes an hour of Fate's serenest weather
Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams;
Somewhere above us, in elusive ether,
Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.
_Ad Amicos_. B. TAYLOR.


The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,
Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers.
_The Excursion, Bk. IX_. W. WORDSWORTH.

'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of Faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind
Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?
_Faerie Queene, Bk. VI_. E. SPENSER.

Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see!
What shall I render to my God
For all his gifts to me?
_Divine Songs_. DR. T. WATTS.

In Faith and Hope the world will disagree,
But all mankind's concern is charity.
_Essays on Man, Epistle III_. A. POPE.

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
_Epilogue to Satires, Dial. I_. A. POPE.

True charity makes others' wants their own.
_Poor Man's Comfort_. R. DABORNE.

He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity.
_King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act_ iv. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

O chime of sweet Saint Charity,
Peal soon that Easter morn
When Christ for all shall risen be,
And in all hearts new-born!
That Pentecost when utterance clear
To all men shall be given.
When all shall say _My Brother_ here,
And hear _My Son_ in heaven!
_Godminster Chimes_. J.R. LOWELL.

Charity itself fulfils the law,
And who can sever love from charity?
_Love's Labor's Lost_. SHAKESPEARE.

That man may last, but never lives,
Who much receives but nothing gives;
Whom none can love, whom none can thank,
Creation's blot, creation's blank.
_When Jesus Dwelt_. T. GIBBONS.


A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure.
_Of Education_. M.F. TUPPER.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
_Essay on Man, Epistle II_. A. POPE.

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight,
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
_Bed in Summer_. R.L. STEVENSON.

Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
_To a Butterfly_. W. WORDSWORTH.

When they are young, they
Are like bells rung backwards, nothing but noise
And giddiness.
_Wit without Money_. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

A truthful page is childhood's lovely face,
Whereon sweet Innocence has record made,--
An outward semblance of the young heart's grace,
Where truth, and love, and trust are all portrayed.
_On a Picture of Lillie_. B.P. SHILLABER.

And the King with his golden sceptre,
The Pope with Saint Peter's key,
Can never unlock the one little heart
That is opened only to me.
For I am the Lord of a Realm,
And I am Pope of a See;
Indeed I'm supreme in the kingdom
That is sitting, just now, on my knee.
_The King and The Pope_. C.H. WEBB.

Now I lay me down to take my sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep:
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
_New England Primer_.

And children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe.
_Lady of the Lake, Canto II_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
_To a Butterfly_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixtures of more happy days!
_Beppo_. LORD BYRON.

They are as gentle
As zephyrs blowing below the violet.
_Cymbeline, Act iv. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Men are but children of a larger growth.
_All for Love, Act iv. Sc. 1_. J. DRYDEN.

The childhood shows the man
As morning shows the day.
_Paradise Regained, Bk. IV_. MILTON.


O most illustrious of the days of time!
Day full of joy and benison to earth
When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!
With dazzling pomp descending angels sung
Good-will and peace to men, to God due praise.
_The Microcosm and Other Poems_. A. COLES.

Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace;
East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease;
Sing the song of great joy that the angels began,
Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man!
_A Christmas Carmen_. J.G. WHITTIER.

Oh, come, all ye faithful!
Triumphantly sing!
Come, see in the manger
The angels' dread King!
To Bethlehem hasten
With joyful accord;
Oh, hasten, oh, hasten,
To worship the Lord!
_Christmas Day. Unknown Latin Author_.
_Trans. of_ E. CASWELL.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,
When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
_A Christmas Carol_. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.

Now thrice-welcome Christmas, which brings us good cheer.
Minced pies and plum porridge, good ale and strong beer,
With pig, goose, and capon, the best that may be,--
So well doth the weather and our stomachs agree....
But those on whose tables no victuals appear,
O, may they keep Lent all the rest of the year!
_Poor Robin's Almanack_, 1695.


Lord of the worlds above,
How pleasant and how fair
The dwellings of thy love.
Thine earthly temples, are!
To thine abode
My heart aspires,
With warm desires
To see my God.
_The House of God_. W. COWPER.

"What is a church?" Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek,
From Christian folds, the one selected race,
Of all professions, and in every place."
_The Borough, Letter II_. G. CRABBE.

Spires whose "silent fingers point to heaven."
_The Excursion, Bk. VI_, W. Wordsworth.

I love thy church, O God:
Her walls before thee stand,
Dear as the apple of thine eye,
And graven on thy hand.

* * * * *

For her my tears shall fall,
For her my prayers ascend;
To her my cares and toils be given,
Till toils and cares shall end.
_Love to the Church_. T. Dwight.

As some to Church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
_Essay on Criticism_. A. Pope.

Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name.
_Moral Essays, Epistle III_. A. Pope.


God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
_The Garden, Essay V_. A. Cowley.

I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
_Childe Harold, Canto III_. Lord Byron.

The people are the city.
_Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 1_. Shakespeare.

Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me
than mast-hemmed Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop-edged waves of flood-tide?
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the
twilight, and the belated lighter?
_Crossing Brooklyn Ferry_. W. Whitman.

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town,
_Don Juan, Canto X_. Lord Byron.

On the AEgean shore a city stands,
Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil,
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits,
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,
City or suburban, studious walks and shades;
See there the olive grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
_Paradise Regained, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand;
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles.
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more.
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear.
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires!

* * * * *

The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago.
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.


He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart.
_The Timepiece: The Task, Bk. II_. W. COWPER.

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to Heaven,
Whilst, like a puffed and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede.
_Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Wel ought a prest ensample for to yive,
By his clennesse, how that his sheep shulde lyve.

* * * * *

To draw folk to heven by fairnesse
By good ensample, this was his busynesse.
_Canterbury Tales: Prologue_. CHAUCER.

Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refined as ever Athens heard;
And (strange to tell!) he practised what he preached.
_Art of Preserving Health_ J. ARMSTRONG.


By unseen hands uplifted in the light
Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud
Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad,
And wafted up to heaven.
_Michael Angelo, Pt. II_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a laboring breast.
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
_In Memoriam, XV_. A. TENNYSON.

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields,
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool,
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion, o'er the freshened world.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

A step,
A single step, that freed me from the skirts
Of the blind vapor, opened to my view
Glory beyond all glory ever seen
By waking sense or by the dreaming soul!
The appearance, instantaneously disclosed
Was of a mighty city,--boldly say
A wilderness of building, sinking far
And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth,
Far sinking into splendor,--without end!
Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,
With alabaster domes, and silver spires,
And blazing terrace upon terrace, high
Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright,
In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars,--illumination of all gems!
_The Excursion, Bk. II_. W. WORDSWORTH.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away
Over the snowy peaks!
_Christus: The Golden Legend_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.


Dear little head, that lies in calm content
Within the gracious hollow that God made
In every human shoulder, where He meant
Some tired head for comfort should be laid.
_Song_. C. THAXTER.

Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel.
_Much Ado About Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

"What is good for a bootless bene?"
With these dark words begins my tale;
And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?
_Force of Prayer_. W. WORDSWORTH.

And He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age!
_As You, Like It, Act ii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing,
Hope, and comfort from above;
Let us each, thy peace possessing,
Triumph in redeeming love.
_Benediction_. R.S. HAWKER.


Current among men,
Like coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
_The Princess, Pt. II_. A. TENNYSON.

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

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

The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.
_To a Lady; with a Present of Flowers_. T. TICKELL.

When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
_Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade.

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
_The Bride of Abydos, Canto II_. LORD BYRON.

Those curious locks so aptly twined
Whose every hair a soul doth bind.
_Think not 'cause men flattering say_. T. CAREW.

And beauty draws us with a single hair.
_Rape of the Lock, Canto II_. A. POPE.

When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that.
_Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Some asked me where the Rubies grew,
And nothing I did say,
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
_The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarrie of Pearls_. R. HERRICK.

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones,--Come and buy;
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile,
There's the land, or cherry-isle.
_Cherry Ripe_. R. HERRICK.

Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel;
Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle.
_Soliloquy on a Beauty in the Country_. LORD LYTTLETON.

Banish all compliments but single truth.
_Faithful Shepherdess_. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

What honor that,
But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear
So many hollow compliments and lies.
_Paradise Regained_. MILTON.

'Twas never merry world
Since lowly feigning was called compliment.
_Twelfth Night, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.


'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
_Essay on Criticism, Pt. I_. A. POPE.

To observations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for the observer's sake.
_Moral Essays, Epistle I_. A. POPE.

In men this blunder still you find,
All think their little set mankind.
_Florio, Pt. I_. HANNAH MORE.

Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
_Hamlet, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.


Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
_The Island, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!
_Struggles of Conscience_. G. CRABBE.

Conscience is harder than our enemies,
Knows more, accuses with more nicety.
_Spanish Gypsy_. GEORGE ELIOT.

Of a' the ills that flesh can fear,
The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear,
A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear,
A lassie's nonsense--
There's just ae thing I cannae bear,
An' that's my conscience.
_My Conscience_. R.L. STEVENSON.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
_K. Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Why should not Conscience have vacation
As well as other courts o' th' nation?
Have equal power to adjourn,
Appoint appearance and return?
_Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto II_. S. BUTLER.

Soft, I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
_K. Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Let his tormentor conscience find him out.
_Paradise Regained, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

Speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
_Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind:
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
_K. Richard II., Act v. Sc. 6_. SHAKESPEARE.

Leave her to Heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.
_Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

Consideration, like an angel, came
And whipped the offending Adam out of him.
_K. Henry V., Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

True, conscious Honor is to feel no sin,
He's armed without that's innocent within;
Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of Brass.
_First Book of Horace, Epistle I_. A. POPE.

I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities;
A still and quiet conscience.
_K. Henry VIII., Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

A quiet conscience makes one so serene!
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded
That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
_Don Juan, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my Great Task-Master's eye.
_On being arrived at his Three-and-Twentieth Year_. MILTON.

And sure the eternal Master found
His single talent well employed.
_Verses on Robert Levet_. DR. S. JOHNSON.


With silence only as their benediction,
God's angels come
Where in the shadow of a great affliction,
The soul sits dumb!
_To my Friend on the Death of his Sister_.

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler,
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
_Evangeline_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Sprinkled along the waste of years
Full many a soft green isle appears:
Pause where we may upon the desert road,
Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode.
_The Christian Year. The First Sunday in Advent_.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again.
_Endymion_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Love is indestructible:
Its holy flame forever burneth:
From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;

* * * * *

It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of Love is there.
_Curse of Kehama, Canto X_. R. SOUTHEY.


O heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect. That one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act v. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

They sin who tell us Love can die:
With Life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.
_Curse of Kehama, Canto X_. R. SOUTHEY.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar.
But never doubt I love.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

When love begins to sicken and decay,
It useth an enforced ceremony.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.
_Julius Caesar, Act iv. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

You say to me-wards your affection's strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
_Love me little, love me long_. R. HERRICK.

When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.
_Reasons for Constancy_. SIR C. SEDLEY.

If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
For such as I am all true lovers are,
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else.
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved.
_Twelfth Night, Act ii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

I could be well moved if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me;
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true fixed and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
_Julius Caesar, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.


Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment,
But lives at peace, within himself content;
In thought, or act, accountable to none
But to himself, and to the gods alone.
_Epistle to Mrs. Higgons_. LORD LANSDOWNE.

Yes! in the poor man's garden grow,
Far more than herbs and flowers,
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind,
And joy for weary hours.
_The Poor Man's Garden_. M. HOWITT.

Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf,
Not one will change his neighbor with himself.
_Essay on Man, Epistle II_. A. POPE.

Poor and content is rich and rich enough,
But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
_Othello, Act iii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

From labor health, from health contentment spring;
Contentment opes the source of every joy.
_The Minstrel, Bk. I_. J. BEATTIE.

What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labor while each day she spends!
She gratefully receives what Heaven has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
_Rural Sports, Canto II_. J. GAY.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content;
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
_K. Henry VI., Pt. III. Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Shut up
In measureless content.
_Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.


Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind.
_The Odyssey, Bk. XV_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ POPE.

With good and gentle-humored hearts
I choose to chat where'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts.
But if I get among the glum
I hold my tongue to tell the truth
And keep my breath to cool my broth.
_Careless Content_. LORD BYRON.

But conversation, choose what theme we may,
And chiefly when religion leads the way,
Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs,
Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
_Conversation_. W. COWPER.

In general those who nothing have to say
Contrive to spend the longest time in doing it.
_An Oriental Apologue_. J.R. LOWELL.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
_King John, Act iii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Think all you speak; but speak not all you think:
Thoughts are your own; your words are so no more.
_Epigram_. H. DELAUNE.

Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse,
Not more distinct from harmony divine
The constant creaking of a country sign.
_Conversation_. W. COWPER.

Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth,
When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
_Marmion, Canto II_. SIR W. SCOTT.

They never taste who always drink;
They always talk who never think.
_Upon a Passage in the Scaligerana_. M. PRIOR.

And, when you stick on conversation's burrs,
Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful _urs_.
_Urania_. O.W. HOLMES.

KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.
_King Richard III., Act iv. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

O, many a shaft, at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant!
And many a word, at random spoken,
May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken!
_Lord of the Isles, Canto V_. SIR W. SCOTT.

A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
_Love's Labor's Lost, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

In his brain--
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage--he hath strange places crammed
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms.
_As You Like it, Act ii. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

And I oft have heard defended,
Little said is soonest mended.
_The Shepherd's Hunting_. G. WITHER.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.
_Venus and Adonis_. SHAKESPEARE.

Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
_Love's Labor's Lost, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.


Or light or dark, or short or tall,
She sets a springe to snare them all:
All's one to her--above her fan
She'd make sweet eyes at Caliban.
_Quatrains. Coquette_. T.B. ALDRICH.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No."
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing.
_Don Juan, Canto XII_. LORD BYRON.

And still she sits, young while the earth is old
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
_Lilith_. D.G. ROSSETTI.

How happy could I be with either,
Were t' other dear charmer away!
But while ye thus tease me together,
To neither a word will I say.
_Beggar's Opera, Act ii. Sc. 2_. J. GAY.

Ye belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence this impertinence springs,
The sexes at once to confound?
_Song for Ranelagh_. P. WHITEHEAD.



America! half brother of the world!
With something good and bad of every laud.
_Festus: Sc. The Surface_. P.J. BAILEY.

Hail Columbia! happy land!
Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band!
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoyed the peace your valor won!
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm--united--let us be,
Rallying round our liberty:
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.
_Hail Columbia_. J. HOPKINSON.

Around I see
The powers that be;
I stand by Empire's primal springs;
And princes meet
In every street,
And hear the tread of uncrowned kings!

* * * * *

Not lightly fall
Beyond recall
The written scrolls a breath can float;
The crowning fact
The kingliest act
Of Freedom is the freeman's vote!
_The Eve of Election_. J.G. WHITTIER.


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