I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient.King Henry IV., Pt. II. Acti.Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eyeTh' unfeeling proud one looks, and passes by,Condemned on penury's barren path to roam,Scorned by the world, and left without a home.Pleasures of Hope. T. CAMPBELL.
Through tattered clothes small vices do appear;Robes and furred gowns hide all.King Lear, Activ.Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.
Take physic, Pomp;Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel.King Lear, Actiii.Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
O world! how apt the poor are to be proud!Twelfth Night. Actiii.Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
This mournful truth is everywhere confessed,Slow rises worth by poverty oppressed.Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.
And rustic life and povertyGrow beautiful beneath his touch.Burns. T. CAMPBELL.
Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor.King Richard II., Actii.Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Power, like a desolating pestilence,Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience,Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame.A mechanized automaton.Queen Mab, Pt. III. P.B. SHELLEY.
Because the good old ruleSufficeth them, the simple plan,That they should take who have the power,And they should keep who can.Rob Roy's Grave. W. WORDSWORTH.
For what can power give more than food and drink,To live at ease, and not be bound to think?Medal. J. DRYDEN.
Patience and gentleness is power.On a Lock of Milton's Hair. L. HUNT.
Some novel powerSprang up forever at a touch,And hope could never hope too much,In watching thee from hour to hour.In Memoriam, CXI. A. TENNYSON.
A power is passing from the earth.On the Expected Dissolution of Mr. Fox. W. WORDSWORTH.
He hath no power that hath not power to use.Festus, Sc. A Visit. P.J. BAILEY.
The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,Reigns more or less, and glows in every heart.Love of Fame, Satire I. DR. E. YOUNG.
One good deed dying tonguelessSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.Our praises are our wages.Winter's Tale, Acti.Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
O Popular Applause! what heart of manIs proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.
I would applaud thee to the very echo,That should applaud again.Macbeth, Actv.Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs.Love's Labor's Lost, Activ.Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
If matters not how false or forced,So the best things be said o' the worst.Hudibras, Pt. II. S. BUTLER.
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise.Paradise Regained, Bk. III. MILTON.
Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe,Are lost on hearers that our merits know.Iliad, Bk. X. HOMER.Trans. of. POPE.
Not in the clamor of the crowded street,Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.The Poets. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Prayer moves the Hand which moves the world.There is an Eye that Never Sleeps. J.A. WALLACE.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning partWithout the sweet concurrence of the heart.Hesperides: The Heart. R. HERRICK.
As down in the sunless retreats of the oceanSweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.As Down in the Sunless Retreats. T. MOORE.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer.In Memoriam, XXXII. A. TENNYSON.
Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right.Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray,Though hope be weak or sick with long delay;Pray in the darkness, if there be no light.Prayer. H. COLERIDGE.
Pray to be perfect, though material leavenForbid the spirit so on earth to be;But if for any wish thou darest not pray,Then pray to God to cast that wish away.Prayer. H. COLERIDGE.
And Satan trembles when he seesThe weakest saint upon his knees.Exhortation to Prayer. W. COWPER.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice.The Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.
You few that loved me
* * * * *
Go with me, like good angels, to my end;And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,And lift my soul to heaven.King Henry VIII., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
I venerate the man whose heart is warm,Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life,Coincident, exhibit lucid proofThat he is honest in the sacred cause.The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.
God preaches, a noted clergyman,And the sermon is never long;So instead of getting to heaven at last,I'm going all along.A Service of Song. E. DICKINSON.
Skilful alike with tongue and pen,He preached to all men everywhereThe Gospel of the Golden Rule,The new Commandment given to men,Thinking the deed, and not the creed,Would help us in our utmost need.Tales of a Wayside Inn: Prelude. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind.And, while they captivate, inform the mind.Hope. W. COWPER.
The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,And all the well-whipped cream of courtly sense.Satires: Epilogues, Dialogue I. A. POPE.
The lilies say: Behold how wePreach without words of purity.Consider the Lilies of the Field. C.G. ROSSETTI.
Sow in the morn thy seed,At eve hold not thy hand;To doubt and fear give thou no heed,Broadcast it o'er the land.The Field of the World. J. MONTGOMERY.
His preaching much, but more his practice wrought—A living sermon of the truths he taught.Character of a Good Parson. J. DRYDEN.
I preached as never sure to preach again,And as a dying man to dying men.Love breathing Thanks and Praise. R. BAXTER.
Lo! on a narrow neck of land,'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand.Hymn. C. WESLEY.
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,The past, the future, two eternities!Lalla Rookh: The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.T. MOORE.
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate,All but the page prescribed, their present state.Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.
Happy the man, and happy he alone,He who can call to-day his own:He who, secure within, can say,To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.Imitation of Horace, Bk. I. Ode29. J. DRYDEN.
Defer not till to-morrow to be wise,To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise.Letter to Cobham. W. CONGREVE.
Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,But an eternal Now does always last.Davideis, Vol. I. Bk. I. A. COWLEY.
Pride like an eagle builds amid the stars.Night Thoughts, Night V. DR. E. YOUNG.
Why, who cries out on pride,That can therein tax any private party?Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea?As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
'T is pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;I think the Romans call it stoicism.Cato, Act i. Sc. 4. J. ADDISON.
Of all the causes which conspire to blindMan's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,What the weak head with strongest bias rules,Is pride, the never failing vice of fools.Essay on Criticism, Pt. II. A. POPE.
Where wavering man, betrayed by venturous prideTo chase the dreary paths without a guide.As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude,Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good.The Vanity of Human Wishes. DR. S. JOHNSON.
Pride (of all others the most dang'rous fault)Proceeds from want of sense or want of thought.Essay on Translated Verse. W. DILLON.
Oft has it been my lot to markA proud, conceited, talking spark.The Chameleon. J. MERRICK.
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk.Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Ask for whose use the heavenly bodies shine;Earth for whose use? Pride answers,'T is for mine!Essay on Man, Pt. I. A. POPE.
From lower to the higher next,Not to the top, is Nature's text;And embryo good, to reach full stature,Absorbs the evil in its nature.Festina Lente. J.R. LOWELL.
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone,Not God's, and not the beast's;God is, they are,Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.A Death in the Desert. R. BROWNING.
Progress isThe law of life, man is notMan as yet.Paracelsus, Pt. V. R. BROWNING.
The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man,And the man said, "Am I your debtor?"And the Lord—"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can,And then I will let you a better."By an Evolutionist. A. TENNYSON.
Eternal process moving on,From state to state the spirit moves.In Memoriam, LXXXIII. A. TENNYSON.
Promise is most given when the least is said.Musoeus of Hero and Leander. G. CHAPMAN.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping.Measure for Measure, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And be these juggling fiends no more believed,That palter with us in a double sense;That keep the word of promise to our ear,And break it to our hope.Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;But his performance, as he is now, nothing.King Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
There buds the promise of celestial worth.The Last Day, Bk. III. DR. E. YOUNG.
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardensThat one day bloomed and fruitful were the next.King Henry VI., Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE.
O, shame to men! devil with devil damnedFirm concord holds; men only disagreeOf creatures rational.Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
O we fell out, I know not why,And kissed again with tears.The Princess. A. TENNYSON.
What dire offence from amorous causes springs,What mighty contests rise from trivial things.Rape of the Lock, Canto I. A. POPE.
BewareOf entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,Bear 't that the opposèd may beware of thee.Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Those who in quarrels interpose,Must often wipe a bloody nose.Fables: The Mastiffs.. J. GAY.
But greatly to find quarrel in a strawWhen honor's at the stake.Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
In a false quarrel there is no true valor.Much Ado about Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
I'm armed with more than complete steel,The justice of my quarrel.Lust's Dominion, Act iii. Sc. 4. C. MARLOWE.
The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;And, softly shaking on the dimpled poolPrelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,In large effusion, o'er the freshened world.The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
Drip, drip, the rain comes falling,Rain in the woods, rain on the sea;Even the little waves, beaten, come crawlingAs if to find shelter here with me.Waiting in the Rain. J.H. MORSE.
The rain-drops' showery dance and rhythmic beat,With tinkling of innumerable feet.The Microcosm: Hearing. A. COLES.
And the hooded clouds, like friars,Tell their beads in drops of rain.Midnight Mass for the Dying Year. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
See where it smokes along the sounding plain,Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain;Peal upon peal, redoubling all around,Shakes it again and faster to the ground.Truth. W. COWPER.
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,And drinks and gapes for drink again;The plants suck in the earth, and areWith constant drinking fresh and fair.Anacreontiques. A. COWLEY.
When that I was and a little tiny boy,With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,A foolish thing was but a toy,For the rain it raineth every day.Twelfth Night, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow in the sky!Idylls of the King: The Coming of Arthur. A. TENNYSON.
Mild arch of promise! on the evening skyThou shinest fair with many a lovely ray,Each in the other melting.The Evening Rainbow. R. SOUTHEY.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky,When storms prepare to part;I ask not proud PhilosophyTo teach me what thou art.To the Rainbow. T. CAMPBELL.
What skilful limner e'er would chooseTo paint the rainbow's varying hues,Unless to mortal it were givenTo dip his brush in dyes of heaven?Marmion, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tieOf thy Lord's hand, the object of His eye!When I behold thee, though my light be dim,Distinct, and low, I can in thine see HimWho looks upon thee from His glorious throne,And minds the covenant between all and One.The Rainbow. H. VAUGHAN.
I had found the secret of a garret roomPiled high with cases in my father's name;Piled high, packed large,—where, creeping in and outAmong the giant fossils of my past,Like some small nimble mouse between the ribsOf a mastodon, I nibbled here and thereAt this or that box, pulling through the gap,In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,The first book first. And how I felt it beatUnder my pillow, in the morning's dark,An hour before the sun would let me read!Aurora Leigh, Bk. I. E.B. BROWNING.
Come, and take choice of all my library,And so beguile thy sorrow.Titus Andronicus, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
He furnished meFrom mine own library with volumes thatI prize above my dukedom.Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
There studious let me sit,And hold high converse with the mighty dead;Sages of ancient time, as gods revered,As gods beneficent, who blest mankindWith arts, with arms, and humanized a world.The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.
POLONIUS.—What do you read, my lord?HAMLET.—Words, words, words.Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
O Reader! had you in your mindSuch stores as silent thought may bring,O gentle Reader! you would findA tale in everything.Simon Lee. W. WORDSWORTH.
And choose an author as you choose a friend.Essay on Translated Verse. EARL OF ROSCOMMON.
When the last reader reads no more.The Last Reader. O.W. HOLMES.
All was false and hollow; though his tongueDropped manna, and could make the worse appearThe better reason, to perplex and dashMaturest counsels; for his thoughts were low;To vice industrious, but to nobler deedsTimorous and slothful: yet he pleased the ear,And with persuasive accent thus began.Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were asplentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reasonupon compulsion. I.King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.Julius Cæsar, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Whatever sceptic could inquire for,For every why he had a wherefore.Hudibras, Pt. I. S. BUTLER.
I was promised on a timeTo have reason for my rhyme;From that time unto this season,I received nor rhyme nor reason.Lines on his Promised Pension. E. SPENSER.
For who, alas! has lived,Nor in the watches of the night recalledWords he has wished unsaid and deeds undone?Reflections. S. ROGERS.
Thou wilt lamentHereafter, when the evil shall be doneAnd shall admit no cure.Iliad, Bk. IX. HOMER.Trans. ofBRYANT.
The man who seeks one thing in life, and but one,May hope to achieve it before life be done;But he who seeks all things, wherever he goes,Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sowsA harvest of barren regrets.Lucile, Pt. 1. Canto II. LORD LYTTON (Owen Meredith).
O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting!O lost hours and days in which we might have been happy!Tales of a Wayside Inn: The Theologian's Tale. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Calmly he looked on either Life, and hereSaw nothing to regret, or there to fear:From Nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfied.Thanked Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.Epitaph X. A. POPE.
God is not dumb, that he should speak no more;If thou hast wanderings in the wildernessAnd find'st not Sinai, 't is thy soul is poor.Bibliotres. J.R. LOWELL.
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired,Needs only to be seen to be admired.Expostulation. W. COWPER.
In religion,What damnèd error, but some sober browWill bless it and approve it with a text.Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
I think while zealots fast and frown,And fight for two or seven,That there are fifty roads to town,And rather more to Heaven.Chant of Brazen Head. W.M. PRAED.
Religion stands on tiptoe in our land,Ready to pass to the American strand.The Church Militant. G. HERBERT.
A Christian is the highest type of man.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
Remote from man, with God he passed the days,Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.The Hermit. T. PARNELL.
Religion's all. Descending from the skiesTo wretched man, the goddess in her leftHolds out this world, and, in her right, the next.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
My God, my Father, and my Friend,Do not forsake me at my end.Translation of Dies Irae. EARL OF ROSCOMMON.
What exile from himself can flee?To zones though more and more remoteStill, still pursues, where'er I be,The blight of life—the demon Thought.Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
Now conscience wakes despairThat slumbered, wakes the bitter memoryOf what he was, what is, and what must be.Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.
Unnatural deedsDo breed unnatural troubles: infected mindsTo their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
MACBETH.—Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the brain,And with some sweet oblivious antidoteCleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff,Which weighs upon the heart?DOCTOR.— Therein the patientMust minister to himself.Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,A brother's murder.Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
How guilt once harbored in the conscious breast,Intimidates the brave, degrades the great.Irene, Act iv. Sc. 8. DR. S. JOHNSON.
High minds, of native pride and force,Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!Fear for their scourge, mean villains have,Thou art the torturer of the brave!Marmion, Canto III. SIR W. SCOTT.
Amid the roses, fierce Repentance rearsHer snaky crest; a quick-returning pangShoots through the conscious heart.The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
There is no future pangCan deal that justice on the self-condemnedHe deals on his own soul.Manfred, Act iii. Sc. 1. LORD BYRON.
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,Is the immediate jewel of their souls:Who steals my purse, steals trash; 't is something, nothing;'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands;But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.Othello, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Fear not the anger of the wise to raise,They best can bear reproof who merit praise.Essay on Criticism. A. POPE.
The purest treasure mortal times affordIs spotless reputation; that away,Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy landWherein thou liest in reputation sick.King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Convey a libel in a frown,And wink a reputation down!Journal of a Modern Lady. J. SWIFT.
After my death I wish no other herald,No other speaker of my living actions,To keep mine honor from corruption.But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.King Henry VIII., Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
I pray you, in your letters,When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,Nor set down aught in malice: then, must you speakOf one that loved, not wisely, but too well:Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,Perplexed in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away,Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdued eyes,Albeit unused to the melting mood,Drop tears as fast as the Arabian treesTheir medicinal gum. Set you down this.Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
O God!—Horatio, what a wounded name,Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,Absent thee from felicity awhile,And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,To tell my story.Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Behold, how brightly breaks the morning,Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm.Behold how brightly breaks. J. KENNEY.
God is much displeasedThat you take with unthankfulness his doing:In common worldly things, 't is called ungrateful,With dull unwillingness to repay a debtWhich with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,For it requires the royal debt it lent you.King Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Thus ready for the way of life or death,I wait the sharpest blow.Pericles, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
What's gone and what's past helpShould be past grief.Winter's Tale, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
But hushed be every thought that springsFrom out the bitterness of things.Addressed to Sir G.H.B. W. WORDSWORTH.
Down, thou climbing sorrow,Thy element's below!King Lear, Act ii. Sc 4. SHAKESPEARE.
'T is impious in a good man to be sad.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.To an Afflicted Protestant Lady. W. COWPER.
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Now let us thank the Eternal Power: convincedThat Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction,—That oft the cloud which wraps the present hourServes but to brighten all our future days.Barbarossa, Act v. Sc. 3. J. BROWN.
Be stirring as the time: be fire with fire:Threaten the threatener and outface the browOf bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,That borrow their behaviors from the great,Grow great by your example and put onThe dauntless spirit of resolution.King John, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
My resolution 's placed, and I have nothingOf woman in me: now from head to footI am marble—constant.Antony and Cleopatra, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
When twoJoin in the same adventure, one perceivesBefore the other how they ought to act;While one alone, however prompt, resolvesMore tardily and with a weaker will.Iliad, Bk. X. HOMER.Trans. ofBRYANT.
I pull in resolution, and beginTo doubt the equivocation of the fiendThat lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam woodDo come to Dunsinane."Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
In life's small things be resolute and greatTo keep thy muscle trained: know'st thou when FateThy measure takes, or when she'll say to thee,"I find thee worthy; do this deed for me"?Epigram. J.R. LOWELL.
Take thou of me, sweet pillowes, sweetest bed;A chamber deafe of noise, and blind of light,A rosie garland, and a weary hed.Astrophel and Stella. SIR PH. SIDNEY.
And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts,Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.The Excursion, Bk. IV. W. WORDSWORTH.
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh,And, oft renewed, seemed oft to die,With breathless pause between,O who, with speech of war and woes,Would wish to break the soft reposeOf such enchanting scene!Lord of the Isles, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT.
Our foster-nurse of Nature is repose,The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,Are many simples operative, whose powerWill close the eye of anguish.King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
These should be hours for necessities,Not for delights; times to repair our natureWith comforting repose, and not for usTo waste these times.King Henry VIII., Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Who pants for glory finds but short repose;A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.Epistles of Horace, Ep. I. Bk. I. J. DRYDEN.
Where peaceAnd rest can never dwell, hope never comesThat comes to all.Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
Absence of occupation is not rest,A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.Retirement. W. COWPER.
The thorns which I have reaped are of the treeI planted—they have torn me, and I bleed;I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
We but teachBloody instructions, which, being taught, returnTo plague the inventor. This even-handed justiceCommends the ingredients of our poisoned chaliceTo our own lips.Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,No more through rolling clouds to soar again,Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart.English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.
Remember Milo's end,Wedged in that timber which he strove to rend.Essays on Translated Verse. W. DILLON.
Souls made of fire and children of the sun,With whom Revenge is virtue.The Revenge, Act V. DR. E. YOUNG
And if we do but watch the hour,There never yet was human powerWhich could evade, if unforgiven,The patient search and vigil longOf him who treasures up a wrong.Mazeppa. LORD BYRON
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.Titus Andronicus, Act ii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE
If I can catch him once upon the hip,I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc.. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Vengeance to God alone belongs;But when I think on all my wrongs,My blood is liquid flame.Marmion, Canto VI. SIR W. SCOTT.
Revenge, at first though sweet,Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.Paradise Lost, Bk. IX. MILTON.
I pray ye, flog them upon all occasions.It mends their morals, never mind the pain.Don Juan, Canto II. LORD BYRON.
Love is a boy by poets styled;Then spare the rod and spoil the child.Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto I. S. BUTLER.
Whipping, that's virtue's governess,Tutoress of arts and sciences;That mends the gross mistakes of nature,And puts new life into dull matter;That lays foundation for renown,And all the honors of the gown.Hudibras, Pt. II. Canto I. S. BUTLER.
Parent of golden dreams, Romance!Auspicious queen of childish joys,Who lead'st along, in airy dance,Thy votive train of girls and boys.To Romance. LORD BYRON.
He loved the twilight that surroundsThe border-land of old romance;Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,And banner waves, and trumpet sounds,And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,And mighty warriors sweep along,Magnified by the purple mist,The dusk of centuries and of song.Tales of a Wayside Inn: Prelude. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Lady of the Mere,Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.A Narrow Girdle of Bough Stones. W. WORDSWORTH.
Romances paint at full length people's wooings,But only give a bust of marriages:For no one cares for matrimonial cooings.There 's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss.Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,He would have written sonnets all his life?Don Juan, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
When beggars die there are no comets seen;The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.Julius Cæsar, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
What infinite heart's easeMust kings neglect, that private men enjoy?And what have kings that privates have not too,Save ceremony, save general ceremony?King Henry V., Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Not all the water in the rough rude seaCan wash the balm from an anointed king.King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,That treason can but peep to what it would,Acts little of his will.Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength.King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Far from gay cities and the ways of men.Odyssey, Bk. XIV. HOMER.Trans. ofPOPE.
But on and up, where Nature's heartBeats strong amid the hills.Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube. R.M. MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON.
They love the country, and none else, who seekFor their own sake its silence and its shade.Delights which who would leave, that has a heartSusceptible of pity or a mindCultured and capable of sober thought?The Task, Bk. III. W. COWPER.
God made the country, and man made the town;What wonder then, that health and virtue, giftsThat can alone make sweet the bitter draughtThat life holds out to all, should most aboundAnd least be threatened in the fields and groves.The Task, Bk. I.: The Sofa. W. COWPER.
Before green apples blush,Before green nuts embrown,Why, one day in the countryIs worth a month in town.Summer. C.G. ROSSETTI.
Nor rural sights alone, but rural soundsExhilarate the spirit, and restoreThe tone of languid Nature.The Task, Bk. I. W. COWPER.
At eve the ploughman leaves the task of dayAnd, trudging homeward, whistles on the way:And the big-uddered cows with patience stand,And wait the strokings of the damsel's hand.Rural Sport. J. GAY.
Rustic mirth goes round;The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart,Easily pleased; the long loud laugh sincere;The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid,On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep:The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notesOf native music, the respondent dance.Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night.The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.
As in the eye of Nature he has lived,So in the eye of Nature let him die!The Old Cumberland Beggar. W. WORDSWORTH.
O for a seat in some poetic nook,Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.Politics and Poetics. L. HUNT.
I care not, Fortune, what you me deny:You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace.The Castle of Indolence, Canto II. J. THOMSON.
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything.As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voiceOf one who from the far-off hills proclaimsTidings of good to Zion.The Sabbath Bells. C. LAMB.
The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bellsNoo to the hoastin' rookery swells,Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells,Sounds far an' near,An' through the simmer kintry tellsIts tale o' cheer.
An' noo, to that melodious play,A' deidly awn the quiet sway—A' ken their solemn holiday,Bestial an' human,The singin' lintie on the brae,The restin' plou'man.A Lowden Sabbath Morn. R.L. STEVENSON.
Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss:Heaven once a week:The next world's gladness prepossest in this;A day to seek;Eternity in time.Sundays. H. VAUGHAN.
As palmers went to hail the nichèd seatAt desert well, where they put off the shoonAnd robe of travel, so I, a pilgrim as they,Tired with my six-days' track, would turn asideOut of the scorch and glare into the shadeOf Sunday-stillness.The Resting Place. M.J. PRESTON.
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.Hail, Sabbath! Thee I hail, the poor man's day.The Sabbath. J. GRAHAME.
Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure,He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!Urania.. O.W. HOLMES.
Prepare for rhyme—I'll publish, right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.
Satire should, like a polished razor keen,Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen.To the Imitator of the first Satire of Horace. Bk. II.LADY M.W. MONTAGU.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreetTo run amuck and tilt at all I meet.Second Book of Horace. A. POPE.
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel,Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.
And there's a lust in man no charm can tameOf loudly publishing our neighbor's shame;On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly,While virtuous actions are but born and die.Satire IX. JUVENAL.Trans. ofG. HARVEY.
There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.If true, a woful likeness; and, if lies,"Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise."Imitations of Horace, Epistle I. Bk. II. A. POPE.
A third interprets motions, looks and eyes;At every word a reputation dies.Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat,With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.Rape of the Lock, Canto III. A. POPE.
Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,That tends to make one worthy man my foe.The Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.
The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.The Grave. R. BLAIR.
I do present you with a man of mine,Cunning in music and the mathematics,To instruct her fully in those sciences.Taming of the Shrew, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house,Fit to instruct her youth….… for, to cunning menI will be very kind, and liberalTo mine own children in good bringing up.Taming of The Shrew, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Grave is the Master's look: his forehead wearsThick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares:Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule,His worst of all whose kingdom is a school.Supreme he sits; before the awful frownThat binds his brows the boldest eye goes down;Not more submissive Israel heard and sawAt Sinai's foot the Giver of the Law.The School-Boy. O.W. HOLMES.
Besides they always smell of bread and butter.Manfred. LORD BYRON.
You'd scarce expect one of my ageTo speak in public on the stage;And if I chance to fall belowDemosthenes or Cicero,Don't view me with a critic's eye,But pass my imperfections by.Large streams from little fountains flow,Tall oaks from little acorns grow.Lines written for a School Declamation. D. EVERETT.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!Childe Harold, Canto II. LORD BYRON.
While bright-eyed Science watches round.Ode for Music: Chorus. T. GRAY.
There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene,Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay,
* * * * *
O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there,To waft us home the message of despair?Pleasures of Hope. T. CAMPBELL.
One science only will one genius fit,So vast is art, so narrow human wit.Essay on Criticism, Pt. I. A. POPE.
By the glare of false science betrayed,That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.The Hermit. J. BEATTIE.
I value science—none can prize it more,It gives ten thousand motives to adore:Be it religious, as it ought to be,The heart it humbles, and it bows the knee.The Microcosm: Christian Science. A. COLES.
Unpack my heart with words,And fall a cursing, like a very drab,A scullion!Fie upon 't! Foh!Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Find all his having and his holdingReduced to eternal noise and scolding,—The conjugal petard that tearsDown all portcullises of ears.Hudibras. S. BUTLER.
Abroad too kind, at home 't is steadfast hate,And one eternal tempest of debate.Love of Fame. DR. E. YOUNG.
As when, O lady mine,With chiselled touchThe stone unhewn and coldBecomes a living mould,The more the marble wastesThe more the statue grows.Sonnet. M. ANGELO.Trans. ofMRS. H. ROSCOE.
Sculpture is more than painting. It is greaterTo raise the dead to life than to createPhantoms that seem to live.Michael Angelo. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
So stands the statue that enchants the world,So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.The Seasons: Summer. J. THOMSON.
And the cold marble leapt to life a god.The Belvedere Apollo. H.H. MILMAN.
Or view the lord of the unerring bow,The god of life, and poesy, and light.—The sun in human limbs arrayed, and browAll radiant from his triumph in the fight;The shaft hath just been shot,—the arrow brightWith an immortal's vengeance; in his eyeAnd nostril beautiful disdain, and mightAnd majesty, flash their full lightnings by,Developing in that one glance the Deity.
But in his delicate form—a dream of love,Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breastLonged for a deathless lover from above,And maddened in that vision—are exprestAll that ideal beauty ever blessedThe mind within its most unearthly mood,When each conception was a heavenly guest,A ray of immortality, and stood,Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god!Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Ocean! great image of eternity,And yet of fleeting time, of change, unrest,Thou vast and wondrous realm of mystery,Of thy great teachings too is man possessed.Type of God's boundless might, the here and thereUniting, thou dost with a righteous fearMan's heart ennoble, awe, and purify,As in thy mighty, multitudinous tones echoes of God roll by.Nature and Man. J.W. MILES.
What are the wild waves saying,Sister, the whole day long,That ever amid our playingI hear but their low, lone song?What are the Wild Waves Saying? J.B. CARPENTER.
The land is dearer for the sea,The ocean for the shore.On the Beach. L. LARCOM.
Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea.The Ocean. J. MONTGOMERY.
There the sea I foundCalm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.The Revolt of Islam, Canto I. P.B. SHELLEY.
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,The waters gurgle longingly,As if they fain would seek the shore,To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,To be at rest forevermore.The Sirens. J.R. LOWELL.
I am as a weed,Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sailWhere'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.Don Juan, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
Watching the waves with all their white crests dancingCome, like thick-plumed squadrons, to the shoreGallantly bounding.Julian. SIR A. HUNT.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!And the waves behind beneath me as a steedThat knows his rider.Don Juan, Canto III. LORD BYRON.I saw him beat the surges under him,And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,Whose enmity he flung aside, and breastedThe surge most swoln that met him.The Tempest, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land,Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.Luria, Act i. R. BROWNING.
Thus, I steer my bark, and sailOn even keel, with gentle gale.The Spleen. M. GREEN.
What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore,Ships have been drowned, where late they danced before.Safety on the Shore. R. HERRICK.
Through the black night and driving rainA ship is struggling, all in vain,To live upon the stormy main;—Miserere Domine!The Storm. A.A. PROCTER.
But chief at sea, whose every flexile waveObeys the blast, the aërial tumult swells.In the dread Ocean undulating wide,Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe.The Seasons: Summer. J. THOMSON.
She comes majestic with her swelling sails,The gallant Ship: along her watery way,Homeward she drives before the favoring gales;Now flirting at their length the streamers play,And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.Sonnet XIX. R. SOUTHEY.
Thou wert before the Continents, beforeThe hollow heavens, which like another seaEncircles them and thee; but whence thou wert,And when thou wast created, is not known,Antiquity was young when thou wast old.Hymn to the Sea. R.H. STODDARD.
Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows.Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean.The Homeric Hexameter. SCHILLER.Trans. ofCOLERIDGE.
So forth issewed the Seasons of the yeare:First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowresThat freshly budded and new bloomes did beare,In which a thousand birds had built their bowresThat sweetly sung to call forth paramours;And in his hand a javelin he did beare,And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)A guilt, engraven morion he did weare:That, as some did him love, so others did him feare.Faërie Queen, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
The stormy March has come at last,With winds and clouds and changing skies;I hear the rushing of the blastThat through the snowy valley flies.March. W.C. BRYANT.
March! A cloudy stream is flowing,And a hard, steel blast is blowing;Bitterer now than I rememberEver to have felt or seen,In the depths of drear December,When the white doth hide the green.March, April, May. B.W. PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).
A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue—An April day in the morning.April. H.P. SPOFFORD.
O, how this spring of love resemblethThe uncertain glory of an April day!The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
When proud-pied April, dressed all in his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.Sonnet XCVIII. SHAKESPEARE.
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come.The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
But yesterday all life in bud was hid;But yesterday the grass was gray and sere;To-day the whole world decks itself anewIn all the glorious beauty of the year.Sudden Spring in New England. C. WELSH.
When April windsGrew soft, the maple burst into a flushOf scarlet flowers.The Fountains. W.C. BRYANT.
Now Nature hangs her mantle greenOn every blooming tree,And spreads her sheets o' daisies whiteOut o'er the grassy lea.Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots. R. BURNS.
Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring,With sudden passion languishing,Teaching barren moors to smile,Painting pictures mile on mile,Holds a cup of cowslip wreathsWhence a smokeless incense breathes.May Day. R.W. EMERSON.
Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet,Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet,And golden locks in breezy play,Half teasing and half tender, to repeatHer song of "May."May. S.C. WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).
For May wol have no slogardie a-night.The seson priketh every gentil herte,And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.Canterbury Tales: The Knightes Tale. CHAUCER.
When daisies pied, and violets blue,And lady-smocks all silver-white,And cuckoo-buds of yellow hueDo paint the meadows with delight.Love's Labor's Lost, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Then came the jolly Sommer, being dightIn a thin silken cassock, coloured greene,That was unlynèd all, to be more light,And on his head a garlande well beseene.Faërie Queene, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
All green and fair the Summer lies,Just budded from the bud of Spring,With tender blue of wistful skies,And winds which softly sing.Menace. S.C. WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).
From brightening fields of ether fair-disclosed,Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth;He comes, attended by the sultry Hours,And ever-fanning breezes, on his way.The Seasons: Summer. J. THOMSON.
From all the misty morning air, there comes a summer sound,A murmur as of waters from skies, and trees, and ground.The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo.A Midsummer Song. R.W. GILDER.
His labor is a chant,His idleness a tune;Oh, for a bee's experienceOf clovers and of noon!The Bee. E. DICKINSON.
Still as nightOr summer's noontide air.Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.A Christmas Carol. S.T. COLERIDGE.
The Summer looks out from her brazen tower,Through the flashing bars of July.A Corymbus for Autumn. F. THOMPSON.
Dead is the air, and still! the leaves of the locust and walnutLazily hang from the boughs, inlaying their intricate outlinesRather on space than the sky,—on a tideless expansion of slumber.Home Pastorals: August. B. TAYLOR.
Then came the Autumne, all in yellow clad,As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full gladThat he had banished hunger, which to-foreHad by the belly oft him pinchèd sore;Upon his head a wreath, that was enroldWith ears of corne of every sort, he bore,And in his hand a sickle he did holde,To reape the ripened fruit the which the earth had yold.Faërie Queene, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hayGives it a sweet and wholesome odor.Richard III. (Altered), Act v. Sc. 3. C. CIBBER.
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding corn.Brigs of Ayr. R. BURNS.
Yellow, mellow, ripened days.Sheltered in a golden coatingO'er the dreamy, listless haze,White and dainty cloudlets floating;
* * * * *
Sweet and smiling are thy ways,Beauteous, golden Autumn days.Autumn Days. W. CARLETON.
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,Comes jovial on.The Seasons: Autumn. J. THOMSON.
From gold to grayOur mild sweet dayOf Indian summer fades too soon;But tenderlyAbove the seaHangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon.The Eve of Election. J.G. WHITTIER.
The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade,Where naked branches make a fitful shade,And the lost blooms of Autumn withered lie.October. G. ARNOLD.
The dead leaves their rich mosaicsOf olive and gold and brownHad laid on the rain-wet pavements,Through all the embowered town.November. S. LONGFELLOW.
When shriekedThe bleak November winds, and smote the woods,And the brown fields were herbless, and the shadesThat met above the merry rivuletWere spoiled, I sought, I loved them still; they seemedLike old companions in adversity.A Winter Piece. W.C. BRYANT.
Dry leaves upon the wall,Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape,A single frosted cluster on the grapeStill hangs—and that is all.November. S.C. WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).
Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frize,Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill;Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze,And the dull drops that from his purple billAs from a limbeck did adown distill;In his right hand a tipped staff he heldWith which his feeble steps he stayed still,For he was faint with cold and weak with eld,That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld.Faërie Queene, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
Chaste as the icicle,That's curded by the frost from purest snow,And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!Coriolanus, Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose,No sound of hammer or of saw was there.Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted partsWere soon conjoined.The Task: Winter Morning Walk. W. COWPER
When we shall hearThe rain and wind beat dark December, how,In this our pinching cave, shall we discourseThe freezing hours away?Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;Vapors, and Clouds, and Storms.The Seasons: Winter. J. THOMSON.
From snow-topped hills the whirlwinds keenly blow,Howl through the woods, and pierce the vales below,Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies.InebrietyG. CRABBE.
Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweepThe darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep!Though boundless snows the withered heath deform,And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,Yet shall the smile of social love repay,With mental light, the melancholy day!And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er,The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,How bright the fagots in his little hallBlaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!The Pleasures of Hope. T. CAMPBELL.