What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Modest doubt is calledThe beacon of the wise.Troilus and Cressida, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Who never doubted, never half believed,Where doubt there truth is—'tis her shadow.Festus: Sc. A Country Town. P.J. BAILEY.
Uncertain ways unsafest are,And doubt a greater mischief than despair.Cooper's Hill. SIR J. DENHAM.
But the gods are dead—Ay, Zeus is dead, and all the gods but Doubt,And Doubt is brother devil to Despair!Prometheus: Christ. J.B. O'REILLY.
Our doubts are traitorsAnd make us lose the good we oft might winBy fearing to attempt.Measure for Measure, Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
But now, I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound inTo saucy doubts and fears.Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt;Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.Seek and Find. R. HERRICK.
Dubious is such a scrupulous good man—Yes—you may catch him tripping if you can,He would not, with a peremptory tone,Assert the nose upon his face his own;With hesitation admirably slow,He humbly hopes—presumes—it may be so.Conversation. W. COWPER.
But there are wanderers o'er EternityWhose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be.Childe Harold, Canto III. LORD BYRON.
The wound of peace is surety,Surety secure; but modest doubt is calledThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searchesTo the bottom of the worst.Troilus and Cressida, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes;When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.Fables: The Cock and the Fox. J. DRYDEN.
'Twas but a dream,—let it pass,—let it vanish like so many others!What I thought was a flower is only a weed, and is worthless.Courtship of Miles Standish, Pt. VIII. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
One of those passing rainbow dreams,Half light, half shade, which fancy's beamsPaint on the fleeting mists that roll,In trance or slumber, round the soul!Lalla Rookh: Fire Worshippers. T. MOORE.
If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;And all this day an unaccustomed spiritLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreamsCall to the soul when man doth sleep,So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted dreams,And into glory peep.Ascension Hymn. H. VAUGHAN.
When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away,And in a dream as in a fairy barkDrift on and on through the enchanted darkTo purple daybreak—little thought we payTo that sweet bitter world we know by day.Sonnet: Sleep. T.B. ALDRICH.
Dreams are the children of an idle brain.Romeo and Juliet, Acti.Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly.Euphues, 1579. J. LYLY.
The soul of this man is his clothes.All's Well that Ends Well, Act ii. Sc. 5.. SHAKESPEARE.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy:For the apparel oft proclaims the man.Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside.As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,And heightens ease with grace.Castle of Indolence, Canto I. J. THOMSON.
What a fine manHath your tailor made you!City Madam, Act i. Sc. 2. P. MASSINGER.
Thy gown? why, ay;—come, tailor, let us see't.O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon:What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart?Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,Like to a censer in a barber's shop:Why, what i' devil's name, tailor, callest thou this!Taming of the Shrew, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales and things;With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery,With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.Taming of the Shrew, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Dress drains our cellar dry,And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires.And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,Where peace and hospitality might reign.The Task, Bk. II. W. COWPER.
Dwellers in huts and in marble halls—From Shepherdess up to Queen—Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawls,And nothing for crinoline.But now simplicity 'snotthe rage,And it's funny to think how coldThe dress they wore in the Golden AgeWould seem in the Age of Gold.The Two Ages. H.S. LEIGH.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,And sing enamored of the nut-brown maid.The Minstrel, Bk. I. J. BEATTIE.
Fill full! Why this is as it should be: hereIs my true realm, amidst bright eyes and facesHappy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach.Sardanapalus, Act iii. Sc. 1. LORD BYRON.
But maistly thee, the bluid o' Scots,Frae Maidenkirk to John o' Grots,The king o' drinks, as I conceive it,Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet!For after years wi' a pockmantieFrae Zanzibar to Alicante,In mony a fash an' sair afflictionI gie 't as my sincere conviction—Of a' their foreign tricks an' pliskies,I maist abominate their whiskies.Nae doot, themsel's, they ken it weel,An' wi' a hash o' leemon peel,An' ice an' siccan filth, they ettleThe stawsome kind o' goo to settle;Sic wersh apothecary's broos wi'As Scotsmen scorn to fyle their moo's wi'.The Scotman's Return from AbroadR.L. STEVENSON.
This bottle's the sun of our table,His beams are rosy wine;We planets that are not able,Without his help to shine.The Duenna, Act iii. Sc. 5. R.B. SHERIDAN.
Now to rivulets from the mountainsPoint the rods of fortune-tellers;Youth perpetual dwells in fountains,Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars.Drinking SongH.W. LONGFELLOW.
In vain I trusted that the flowing bowlWould banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul.To the late revel, and protracted feast,Wild dreams succeeded, and disordered rest.Solomon, Bk. II. M. PRIOR.
And now, in madness,Being full of supper and distempering draughts,Upon malicious bravery, dost thou comeTo start my quiet.Othello, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
He that is drunken….Is outlawed by himself; all kind of illDid with his liquor slide into his veins.The Temple: The Church Porch. G. HERBERT.
A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em,To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em.The Revenger's Tragedy, Act iii. Sc. 1. C. TOURNEUR.
I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;So full of valor that they smote the airFor breathing in their faces; beat the groundFor kissing of their feet.Tempest, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Of my meritOn thet point you yourself may jedge;All is, I never drink no sperit,Nor I hain't never signed no pledge.The Biglow Papers, First Series, No. VII.J.R. LOWELL.
So nigh is grandeur to our dust,So near is God to man,When Duty whispers low,Thou must,The youth replies,I can.Voluntaries. R.W. EMERSON.
Not once or twice in our rough island story,The path of duty was the way to glory.Ode: Death of the Duke of Wellington. A. TENNYSON.
When I'm not thanked at all, I'm thanked enough:I've done my duty, and I've done no more.Tom Thumb. H. FIELDING.
And I read the moral—A brave endeavorTo do thy duty, whate'er its worth,Is better than life with love forever,And love is the sweetest thing on earth.Sir Hugo's Choice. J.J. ROCHE.
The slender debt to nature's quickly paid,Discharged, perchance, with greater ease than made.Emblems, Bk. II.13. F. QUARLES.
The sense of death is most in apprehension;And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,In corporal sufferance finds a pang as greatAs when a giant dies.Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
She thought our good-night kiss was given,And like a lily her life did close;Angels uncurtained that repose,And the next waking dawned in heaven.Ballad of Babe Christabel. G. MASSEY.
So fades a summer cloud away;So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;So gently shuts the eye of day;So dies a wave along the shore.The Death of the Virtuous. MRS. BARBAULD.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died,But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long;Even wondered at, because he dropt no sooner.Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years;Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more:Till, like a clock worn out with eating time,The wheels of weary life at last stood still.OEdipus, Act iv. Sc. 1. J. DRYDEN.
"Christ the Lord is risen to-day,"Sons of men and angels say.Raise your joys and triumphs high;Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply."Christ the Lord is risen to-day." C. WESLEY.
Yes, He is risen who is the First and Last;Who was and is; who liveth and was dead;Beyond the reach of death He now has passed,Of the one glorious Church the glorious Head.He is Risen. H. BONAR.
Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer;Death is strong, but Life is stronger;Stronger than the dark, the light;Stronger than the wrong, the right;Faith and Hope triumphant sayChrist will rise on Easter Day.An Easter Carol. PH. BROOKS.
Rise, heart! thy Lord is risen. Sing His praiseWithout delaysWho takes thee by the hand, that thou likewiseWith Him mayst rise—That as His death calcined thee to dust,His life may make thee gold, and much more just.Easter. G. HERBERT.
Spring bursts to-day,For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.An Easter Carol. C.G. ROSSETTI.
With crosses, relics, crucifixes,Beads, pictures, rosaries, and pixes;The tools of working out salvationBy mere mechanic operation.Hudibras, Pt. III. Canto I. S. BUTLER.
Till Peter's keys some christened Jove adorn,And Pan to Moses lends his pagan horn.The Dunciad, Bk. III. A. POPE.
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuadedThat all the Apostles would have done as they did.Don Juan, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,Who never mentions hell to ears polite.Moral Essays, Epistle IV. A. POPE.
Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.
So shall they build me altars in their zeal,Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:Where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,Written in blood—and Bigotry may swellThe sail he spreads for Heaven with blast from hell!Lalla Rookh: The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. T. MOORE.
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
When pious frauds and holy shiftsAre dispensations and gifts.Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III. S. BUTLER.
Yes,—rather plunge me back in pagan night,And take my chance with Socrates for bliss,Than be the Christian of a faith like this,Which builds on heavenly cant its earthly sway,And in a convert mourns to lose a prey.Intolerance. T. MOORE.
And after hearing what our Church can say,If still our reason runs another way,That private reason 'tis more just to curb,Than by disputes the public peace disturb;For points obscure are of small use to learn,But common quiet is mankind's concern.Religio Laici. J. DRYDEN.
The time will come when every change shall cease,This quick revolving wheel shall rest in peace:No summer then shall glow, nor winter freeze;Nothing shall be to come, and nothing past,But an eternal now shall ever last.The Triumph of Eternity. PETRARCH.
Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,But an eternal now does always last.Davideis, Bk. I. A. COWLEY.
This speck of life in time's great wilderness,This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,The past, the future, two eternities!Lalla Rookh; The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. T. MOORE.
And can eternity belong to me,Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?Night Thoughts, Night I. DR. E. YOUNG.
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,And indicates eternity to man.Cato, Act v. Sc. I. J. ADDISON.
Sweet the coming onOf grateful evening mild; then silent nightWith this her solemn bird and this fair moon,And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.
It is the hour when from the boughsThe nightingale's high note is heard;It is the hour when lovers' vowsSeem sweet in every whispered word.Parisina. LORD BYRON.
O, Twilight! Spirit that doth render birthTo dim enchantments, melting heaven with earth,Leaving on craggy hills and running streamsA softness like the atmosphere of dreams.Picture of Twilight. MRS. C. NORTON.
Now came still evening on; and twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad:Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.A Life Drama. A. SMITH.
When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken,And winds of dreamy odor are loosened from afarWhen on the Marge of Evening. L.I. GUINEY.
When day is done, and clouds are low,And flowers are honey-dew,And Hesper's lamp begins to glowAlong the western blue;And homeward wing the turtle-doves,Then comes the hour the poet loves.The Poet's Hour. G. CROLY.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deepMoans round with many voices.Ulysses. A. TENNYSON.
The holy time is quiet as a NunBreathless with adoration.It is a Beauteous Evening. W. WORDSWORTH.
'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;Heaven were not heaven, if we knew what it were.Against Fruition. SIR J. SUCKLING.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft thereWhere most it promises; and oft it hitsWhere hope is coldest, and despair most fits.All's Well that Ends Well, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Why wish for more?Wishing, of all employments, is the worst;Philosophy's reverse and health's decay.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
A gray eye is a sly eye,And roguish is a brown one;Turn full upon me thy eye,—Ah, how its wavelets drown one!A blue eye is a true eye;Mysterious is a dark one,Which flashes like a spark-sun!A black eye is the best one.Oriental Poetry: Mirza Shaffy on Eyes. W.B. ALGER.
O lovely eyes of azure,Clear as the waters of a brook that runLimpid and laughing in the summer sun!The Masque of Pandora, Pt. I. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Within her tender eyeThe heaven of April, with its changing light.The Spirit of Poetry. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,Like the fair sun, when in his fresh arrayHe cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth;And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,So is her face illumined with her eye.Venus and Adonis. SHAKESPEARE.
Blue eyes shimmer with angel glances,Like spring violets over the lea.October's Song. C.F. WOOLSON.
The harvest of a quiet eye,That broods and sleeps OH his own heart.A Poet Epitaph. W. WORDSWORTH.
Stabbed with a white wench's black eye.Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Sometimes from her eyesI did receive fair speechless messages.Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
For where is any author in the worldTeaches such beauty as a woman's eye?Love's Labor's Lost, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.Beppo. LORD BYRON.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Alas! how little can a moment showOf an eye where feeling playsIn ten thousand dewy rays;A face o'er which a thousand shadows go.The Triad. W. WORDSWORTH.
There's no artTo find the mind's construction in the face.Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Your face, my thane, is a book where menMay read strange matters. To beguile the time,Look like the time.Macbeth, Act i. Sc 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Her face so faire, as flesh it seemed not,But heavenly pourtraict of bright angels' hew,Cleare as the skye withouten blame or blot,Through goodly mixture of complexion's dew.Faërie Queene, Canto III. E. SPENSER.
The light upon her faceShines from the windows of another world.Saints only have such faces.Michael Angelo. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Oh! could you view the melodyOf every grace,And music of her face.Orpheus to Beasts. R. LOVELACE.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
In each cheek appears a pretty dimple;Love made those hollows; if himself were slain,He might be buried in a tomb so simple;Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.Venus and Adonis. SHAKESPEARE.
There Affectation, with a sickly mien,Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen.Rape of the Lock, Canto IV. A. POPE.
Sweet, pouting lips, whose color mocks the rose,Rich, ripe, and teeming with the dew of bliss,—The flower of love's forbidden fruit, which growsInsidiously to tempt us with a kiss.Tasso's Sonnets. R.H. WILDE.
Her face betokened all things dear and good,The light of somewhat yet to come was thereAsleep, and waiting for the opening day.Margaret in the Xebec. J. INGELOW.Her face is like the Milky Way i' the sky,—A meeting of gentle lights without a name.Breunoralt. SIR J. SUCKLING.
A face with gladness overspread!Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!To a Highland Girl. W. WORDSWORTH.
They're fairies! he that speaks to them shall die:I'll wink and couch; no man their sports must eye.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites!We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites.Comedy of Errors, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
In silence sad,Trip we after the night's shade:We the globe can compass soon,Swifter than the wand'ring moon.Midsummer Night's Dream, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Fairies, black, gray, green, and white,You moonshine revellers, and shades of night.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
"Scarlet leather, sewn together,This will make a shoe.Left, right, pull it tight;Summer days are warm;Underground in winter,Laughing at the storm!"Lay your ear close to the hill,Do you not catch the tiny clamor,Busy click of an elfin hammer,Voice of the Leprecaun singing shrillAs he merrily plies his trade?He's a spanAnd quarter in height.Get him in sight, hold him fast,And you're a madeMan!The Fairy Shoemaker. W. ALLINGHAM.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night,In fog, or fire, by lake or moorish fen,Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghostThat breaks his magic chains at curfew time,No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine,Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.Comus. MILTON.
I took it for a faery visionOf some gay creatures of the element,That in the colors of the rainbow liveAnd play i' th' plighted clouds.Comus. MILTON.
Oft fairy elves,Whose midnight revels by a forest side,Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moonSits arbitress, and nearer to the earthWheels her pale course, they on their mirth and danceIntent, with jocund music charm his ear;At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.Paradise Lost, Bk. I. MILTON.
Faith is the subtle chainWhich binds us to the infinite; the voiceOf a deep life within, that will remainUntil we crowd it thence.Sonnet: Faith. E.O. SMITH.
Nor less I deem that there are PowersWhich of themselves our minds impress;That we can feed this mind of oursIn a wise passiveness.Expostulation and Reply. W. WORDSWORTH.
One in whom persuasion and beliefHad ripened into faith, and faith becomeA passionate intuition.The Excursion, B. VII. W. WORDSWORTH.
Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of Death,To break the shock blind nature cannot shun,And lands Thought smoothly on the further shore.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
A bending staff I would not break,A feeble faith I would not shake,Nor even rashly pluck awayThe error which some truth may stay,Whose loss might leave the soul withoutA shield against the shafts of doubt.Questions of Life. J.G. WHITTIER.
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,And gather dust and chaff, and callTo what I feel is Lord of all,And faintly trust the larger hope.In Memoriam, LIV. A. TENNYSON.
The Power that led his chosen, by pillared cloud and flame,Through parted sea and desert waste, that Power is still the Same;He fails not—He—the loyal hearts that firm on Him rely;So put your trust in God, my boys, and keep your powder dry.[A]Oliver's Advice. COLONEL W. BLACKER.
[Footnote A: Cromwell, once when his troops were about crossing a river to attack the enemy, concluded an address with these words: "Put your trust in God; but mind to keep your powder dry."]
If faith produce no works, I seeThat faith is not a living tree.Thus faith and works together grow;No separate life they e'er can know:They're soul and body, hand and heart:What God hath joined, let no man part.Dan and Jane. H. MORE.
Whose faith has centre everywhere,Nor cares to fix itself to form.In Memoriam, XXXIII. A. TENNYSON.
But who with filial confidence inspired,Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,And smiling say, My Father made them all.The Task, Bk. V. Winter Morning Walk. W. COWPER.
I give him joy that's awkward at a lie.Night Thoughts, Night VIII. DR. E. YOUNG.
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act v. Sc. 4.. SHAKESPEARE.
'Tis as easy as lying.Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Some truth there was, but dashed and brewed with lies,To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise.Absalom and Achitophel. J. DRYDEN.
That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies;That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright—But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.The Grandmother. A. TENNYSON.
Some lie beneath the churchyard stone,And some before the speaker.School and Schoolfellows. W.M. PRAED.
Like one,Who having, unto truth, by telling of it,Made such a sinner of his memory,To credit his own lie.The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Fame is the shade of immortality,And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught,Contemned; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.Night Thoughts, Night VII. DR. E. YOUNG.
And what is Fame? the meanest have their day,The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.First Book of Horace, Epistle VI. A. POPE.
What's Fame? A fancied life in others' breath,A thing beyond us, e'en before our death.Essay on Man, Epistle IV. A. POPE.
What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fillA certain portion of uncertain paper:Some liken it to climbing up a hill,Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapor:For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper,"To have, when the original is dust,A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.Don Juan, Canto I. LORD BYRON.
Her house is all of Echo madeWhere never dies the sound;And as her brows the clouds invade,Her feet do strike the ground.Fame. B. JONSON.
What shall I do to be forever known,And make the age to come my own?The Motto. A. COWLEY.
The best-concerted schemes men lay for fameDie fast away: only themselves die faster.The far-famed sculptor, and the laurelled bard,Those bold insurancers of deathless fame,Supply their little feeble aids in vain.The Grave. R. BLAIR.
By Jove! I am not covetous for gold;
* * * * *
But, if it be a sin to covet honor,I am the most offending soul alive.King Henry V., Activ.Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,—That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
* * * * *
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.Troilus and Cressida, Actiii.Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Thrice happy he whose name has been well speltIn the despatch: I knew a man whose lossWas printedGrove, although his name was Grose.Don Juan, Canto VIII. LORD BYRON.
Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favors call:She comes unlooked for, if she comes at all.
* * * * *
Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;O grant an honest fame, or grant me none!The Temple of Fame. A. POPE.
It deserves with characters of brassA forted residence 'gainst the tooth of timeAnd razure of oblivion.Measure for Measure, Actv.Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Your name is greatIn mouths of wisest censure.Othello, Actii.Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Know ye not then, said Satan, filled with scorn,—Know ye not me?
* * * * *
Not to know me argues yourselves unknown,The lowest of your throng.Paradise Lost, Bk. IV. MILTON.
The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian domeOutlives, in fame, the pious fool that raised it.Shakespeare's King Richard III. (Altered), Act iii. Sc. 1. C. CIBBER.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climbThe steep where fame's proud temple shines afar!Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublimeHas felt the influence of malignant star,And waged with Fortune an eternal war;Checked by the scoff of pride, by envy's frown,And poverty's unconquerable bar,In life's low vale remote has pined alone,Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!The Minstrel, Bk. I. J. BEATTIE.
This is the very coinage of your brain:This bodiless creation ecstasyIs very cunning in.Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
When I could not sleep for coldI had fire enough in my brain,And builded with roofs of goldMy beautiful castles in Spain!Aladdin. J.R. LOWELL.
Egeria! sweet creation of some heartWhich found no mortal resting-place so fairAs thine ideal breast; whate'er thou artOr wert,—a young Aurora of the air,The nympholepsy of some fond despair;Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth,Who found a more than common votary thereToo much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,Fancy restores what vengeance snatched away.Eloise to Abélard. A. POPE.
We figure to ourselvesThe thing we like, and then we build it upAs chance will have it, on the rock or sand:For Thought is tired of wandering o'er the world,And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.Philip Van Artevelde, Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 5. SIR H. TAYLOR.
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been—A sound which makes us linger;—yet—farewell.Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
All farewells should be sudden, when forever,Else they make an eternity of moments,And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.Sardanapalus. LORD BYRON.
So sweetly she bade me "Adieu,"I thought that she bade me return.A Pastoral. W. SHENSTONE.
He turned him right and round aboutUpon the Irish shore,And gae his bridle reins a shake,With Adieu for evermore,My dear,With Adieu for evermore.It was a' for our Rightfu' King. R. BURNS.
And so, without more circumstance at all,I hold it fit, that we shake hands and part.Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Fare thee well;The elements be kind to thee, and makeThy spirits all of comfort!Antony and Cleopatra, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Alas, and farewell! But there's no use in grieving,For life is made up of loving and leaving.Written in an Album. R.W. RAYMOND.
Ill husbandry braggethTo go with the best:Good husbandry baggethUp gold in his chest.Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry, Ch. LII. T. TUSSER.
Ye rigid Ploughmen! bear in mindYour labor is for future hours.Advance! spare not! nor look behind!Plough deep and straight with all your powers!The Plough. R.H. HORNE.
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.Windsor Forest. A. POPE.
When weary reapers quit the sultry field,And, crowned with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield.Summer. A. POPE.
Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard!Heap high the golden corn!No richer gift has Autumn pouredFrom out her lavish horn!The Corn-Song. J.G. WHITTIER.
The cattle are grazing,Their heads never raising:There are forty feeding like one!The Cock is Crowing. W. WORDSWORTH.
Fashion—a word which knaves and fools may use,Their knavery and folly to excuse.Rosciad. C. CHURCHILL.
The fashion wears out more apparel than the man.Much Ado about Nothing, Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no doubt,A fool in fashion, but a fool that's out;His passion for absurdity's so strongHe cannot bear a rival in the wrong.Though wrong the mode, comply: more sense is shownIn wearing others' follies than our own.Night Thoughts, Night II. DR. E. YOUNG.
Nothing is thought rareWhich is not new, and followed; yet we knowThat what was worn some twenty years agoComes into grace again.The Noble Gentleman: Prologue. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,And entertain some score or two of tailors,To study fashions to adorn my body.King Richard III., Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion.Antony and Cleopatra, Act iv. Sc. 15. SHAKESPEARE.
Success, the mark no mortal wit,Or surest hand, can always hit:For whatsoe'er we perpetrate,We do but row, we're steered by Fate,Which in success oft disinherits,For spurious causes, noblest merits,Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto I. S. BUTLER.
Fate holds the strings, and men like children moveBut as they're led: success is from above.Heroic Love, Act v. Sc. 1. LORD LANSDOWNE.
Fate steals along with silent tread,Found oftenest in what least we dread;Frowns in the storm with angry brow,But in the sunshine strikes the blow.A Fable: Moral. W. COWPER.
With equal pace, impartial FateKnocks at the palace, as the cottage gate.Bk. I. Ode IV. HORACE.Trans. ofPH. FRANCIS.
Our wills and fates do so contrary runThat our devices still are overthrown;Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
What fates impose, that men must needs abide;It boots not to resist both wind and tide.King Henry VI., Pt. IV. Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.
Let those deplore their doom,Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.The Minstrel, Bk. I. J. BEATTIE.
No living man can send me to the shadesBefore my time; no man of woman born,Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.The Iliad, Bk. VI. HOMER.Trans. ofBRYANT.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,Which we ascribe to Heaven: the fated skyGives us free scope; only, doth backward pullOur slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.All's Well that Ends Well, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
I'll make assurance doubly sure,And take a bond of Fate.Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Men at some time are masters of their fates;The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,But in ourselves, that we are underlings.Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Man is his own star, and the soul that canRender an honest and a perfect manCommands all light, all influence, all fate.Nothing to him falls early, or too late.Upon an Honest Man's Fortune. J. FLETCHER.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.All men make faults.Sonnet XXXV. SHAKESPEARE.
Men still had faults, and men will have them still;He that hath none, and lives as angels do,Must be an angel.On Mr. Dryden's Religio Laici. W. DILLON.
Go to your bosom;Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth knowThat's like my brother's fault.Measure for Measure, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
And oftentimes excusing of a faultDoth make the fault the worse by the excuse,As patches, set upon a little breach,Discredit more in hiding of the faultThan did the fault before it was so patched.King John, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?Why, every fault's condemned ere it be done.Mine were the very cipher of a function,To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,And let go by the actor.Measure for Measure, Act ii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Imagination frames events unknown,In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin,And what it fears creates.Belshazaar, Pt. II. H. MORE.
Imagination's fool and error's wretch,Man makes a death which nature never made;Then on the point of his own fancy falls;And feels a thousand deaths, in fearing one.Night Thoughts, Night IV. DR. E. YOUNG.
A lamb appears a lion, and we fearEach bash we see's a bear.Emblems, Bk. I.-XIII. F. QUARLES.
Or in the night, imagining some fear,How easy is a bush supposed a bear!Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
His fear was greater than his haste:For fear, though fleeter than the wind,Believes 't is always left behind.Hadibras, Pt. III. Canto III. S. BUTLER.
His flight was madness: when our actions do not,Our fears do make us traitors.Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
Such a numerous hostFled not in silence through the frighted deep,With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,Confusion worse confounded.Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheekIs apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe.King Richard II., Act in. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
FearStared in her eyes, and chalked her face.The Princess, IV. A. TENNYSON.
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hairAnd make my seated heart knock at my ribs,Against the use of nature. Present fearsAre less than horrible imaginings.Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
LADY MACBETH. LettingI dare notwait uponI wouldLike the poor cat i' the adage.MACBETH. Prythee. peace:I dare do all that may become a man;Who dares do more, is none.Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,And it stings you for your pains;Grasp it like a man of mettle,And it soft as silk remains.Verses written on a Window in Scotland. A. HILL.
Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.Written on a Window Pane. SIR W. RALEIGH.
If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.Written under the Above. QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Sweet sensibility! thou keen delight!Unprompted moral! sudden sense of right!Sensibility. H. MORE.
Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surfaceIs as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.Evangeline, Pt. II. Sc. 2. H.W. LONGFELLOW.
'Twere vain to tell thee all I feel,Or say for thee I'd die.'Twere Vain to Tell. J.A. WADE.
And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift,Is quick and transient,—comes, and lo! is gone,While Northern thought is slow and durable.Luria, Act v. R. BROWNING.
Great thoughts, great feelings came to them,Like instincts, unawares.The Men of Old. R.M. MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON.
True as the needle to the pole,Or as the dial to the sun.Song. B. BOOTH.
But faithfulness can feed on suffering,And knows no disappointment.Spanish Gypsy, Bk. III. GEORGE ELIOT.
To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true.Rules and Lessons. H. VAUGHAN.
Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,In action faithful, and in honor clear;Who broke no promise, served no private end,Who gained no title, and who lost no friend.Epistle to Mr. Addison. A. POPE.
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights,What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles?How do ye vary your vile days and nights?How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but jogglesIn ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites,And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles?Sonnets: The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit. L. HUNT.
Our plenteous streams a various race supply.The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye,The silver eel, in shining volumes rolled,The yellow carp, in scales bedropped with gold,Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains,And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.Windsor Forest. A. POPE.
No adulation; 'tis the death of virtue;Who flatters, is of all mankind the lowestSave he who courts the flattery.Daniel. H. MORE.
O, that men's ears should beTo counsel deaf, but not to flattery!Timon of Athens, Act i. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
They do abuse the king that flatter him:For flattery is the bellows blows up sin.Pericles, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,But poisoned flattery?Henry V., Act iv. Sc 1. SHAKESPEARE.
But flattery never seems absurd;The flattered always take your word:Impossibilities seem just;They take the strongest praise on trust.Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,Will still come short of self-conceit.The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody. J. GAY.
'Tis an old maxim in the schools,That flattery's the food of fools;Yet now and then your men of witWill condescend to take a bit.Cadenus and Vanessa. J. SWIFT.
He loves to hearThat unicorns may be betrayed with trees,And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,Lions with toils, and men with flatterers.But when I tell him he hates flatterers,He says he does, being then most flattered.Julius Cæsar, Act ii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Ne'erWas flattery lost on Poet's ear:A simple race! they waste their toilFor the vain tribute of a smile.Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT.
Why should the poor be flattered?No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,Where thrift may follow fawning.Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.
His nature is too noble for the world:He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,Or Jove for 's power to thunder.Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd,No arborett with painted blossoms drestAnd smelling sweete, but there it might be fowndTo bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.Faërie Queene, Bk. II. Canto VI. E. SPENSER.
"Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:"And since, methinks. I would not grow so fast,Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.King Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true:Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,For ye waft me to summers of oldWhen the earth teemed around me with fairy delight,And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,Like treasures of silver and gold.Field Flowers. T. CAMPBELL.
Loveliest of lovely things are theyOn earth that soonest pass away.The rose that lives its little hourIs prized beyond the sculptured flower.Scene on the Banks of the Hudson. W.C. BRYANT.
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere;Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;Sweet is the eglantine, but sticketh here;Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough;Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough;Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough;And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.Amoretti, Sonnet XXVI. E. SPENSER.
And 'tis my faith that every flowerEnjoys the air it breathes.Lines written in Early Spring. W. WORDSWORTH.
Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold,Through the brown mouldAlthough the March breezes blew keen on her face,Although the white snow lay in many a place.Daffy-Down-Dilly. A.B. WARNER.
Darlings of the forest!Blossoming aloneWhen Earth's grief is sorestFor her jewels gone—Ere the last snowdrift melts, your tender buds have blown.Trailing Arbutus. R.T. COOKE.
Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose,A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring!The stooping boughs above me,The wandering bee to love me,The fern and moss to creep across,And the elm-tree for our king!Wishing: A Child's Song. W. ALLINGHAM.
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!Whose modest form, so delicately fine,Was nursed in whirling storms,And cradled in the winds.Thee when young spring first questioned winter's sway,And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,Thee on his bank he threwTo mark his victory.To an Early Primrose. H.K. WHITE.
O Proserpina!For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fallFrom Dis's wagon! daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,That die unmarried ere they can beholdBright Phoebus in his strength.The Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.My Nannie's Awa'. R. BURNS.
A primrose by a river's brimA yellow primrose was to him.And it was nothing more.Peter Bell. W. WORDSWORTH.
The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth,And they first feel the sun: so violets blue;So the soft star-like primrose—drenched in dew—The happiest of Spring's happy, fragrant birth.Spring Showers. J. KEBLE.
Primrose-eyes each morning opeIn their cool, deep beds of grass;Violets make the air that passTell-tales of their fragrant slope.Home and Travel: Ariel in the Cloven Pine. B. TAYLOR.
A spring upon whose brink the anemonesAnd hooded violets and shrinking fernsAnd tremulous woodland things crowd unafraid,Sure of the refreshing that they always find.Unvisited. M.J. PRESTON.
The modest, lowly violet,In leaves of tender green is set;So rich she cannot hide from view,But covers all the bank with blue.Spring Scatters Far and Wide. D.R. GOODALE.
Oh! faint delicious spring-time violet,Thine odor like a key,Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to letA thought of sorrow free.The Violet. W.W. STORY.
In kindly showers and sunshine budThe branches of the dull gray wood;Out from its sunned and sheltered nooksThe blue eye of the violet looks.Mogg Megone, Pt. III. J.G. WHITTIER.
Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear,The pink waxen blossoms are waking, I hear;We'll gather an armful of fragrant wild cheer.Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear,Come for arbutus, my dear.Come for Arbutus. S.L. OBERHOLTZER.
A violet by a mossy stoneHalf hidden from the eye!Fair as a star when only oneIs shining in the sky.Lucy. W. WORDSWORTH.
Of all the months that fill the year,Give April's month to me,For earth and sky are then so filledWith sweet variety.
The apple blossoms' shower of pearl,Though blent with rosier hue,As beautiful as woman's blush,As evanescent too.Apple Blossoms. L.E. LANDON.
And buttercups are coming,And scarlet columbine,And in the sunny meadowsThe dandelions shine.Spring. C. THAXTER.
Ah! Bring childhood's flower!The half-blown daisy bring.Flowers for the Heart. J. ELLIOTT.
There is a flower, a little flowerWith silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.A Field Flower. J. MONTGOMERY.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,When such are wanted.To the Daisy. W. WORDSWORTH.
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flowerNear the lark's nest, and in their natural hourHave passed away; less happy than the oneThat, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to proveThe tender charm of poetry and love._Poems composed in the Summer of_1833. W. WORDSWORTH.
With little here to do or seeOf things that in the great world be,Sweet daisy! oft I talk to thee.For thou art worthy,Thou unassuming commonplaceOf nature, with that homely face,And yet with something of a graceWhich love makes for thee!To the Daisy. W. WORDSWORTH.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,And taper fingers catching at all things,To bind them all about with tiny rings.I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill. J. KEATS.
All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children's dower.Home Thoughts from Abroad. R. BROWNING.
The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold,Held up their chalices of goldTo catch the sunshine and the dew.Centennial Poem. J.C.R. DORR.
We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses,Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn;Little tents of odor, where the bee reposes,Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon.The New Pastoral, Bk. VII. T.B. READ.
The amorous odors of the moveless air,—Jasmine and tuberose and gillyflower,Carnation, heliotrope, and purpling showerOf Persian roses.The Picture of St. John, Bk. II. B. TAYLOR.
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.King Henry VI., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
Here eglantine embalmed the air,Hawthorne and hazel mingled there;The primrose pale, and violet flower,Found in each cliff a narrow bower;Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,Emblems of punishment and pride,Grouped their dark hues with every stainThe weather-beaten crags retain.The Lady of the Lake, Canto I. SIR W. SCOTT.
Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine,All these pretty names are mine,And scent in every leaf is mine,And a leaf for all is mine,And the scent—Oh, that's divine!Happy-sweet and pungent fine,Pure as dew, and picked as wine.Songs and Chorus of the Flowers. L. HUNT.
Roses red and violets blewAnd all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.Faërie Queene, Bk. III. Canto VI. E. SPENSER.
Oh! roses and lilies are fair to see;But the wild bluebell is the flower for me.The Bluebell. L.A. MEREDITH.
And the stately lilies standFair in the silvery light,Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer;Their pure breath sanctifies the air,As its fragrance fills the night.A Red Rose. J.C.R. DORR.
And the Naiad-like lily of the vale,Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,That the light of its tremulous bells is seen,Through their pavilions of tender green.The Sensitive Plant. P.B. SHELLEY.
A pure, cool lily, bendingNear the rose all flushed and warm.Guonare. E.L. SPROAT.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you,love, remember:—and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE.
Of all the bonny buds that blowIn bright or cloudy weather,Of all the flowers that come and goThe whole twelve moons together,The little purple pansy bringsThoughts of the sweetest, saddest things.Heart's Ease. M.E. BRADLEY.
I send thee pansies while the year is young,Yellow as sunshine, purple as the night:Flowers of remembrance, ever fondly sungBy all the chiefest of the Sons of Light;
* * * * *
Take all the sweetness of a gift unsought,And for the pansies send me back a thought.Pansies. S. DOWDNEY.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows,Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1.. SHAKESPEARE.
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude,That grace my gloomy solitude,I teach in winding wreaths to strayFantastic ivy's gadding spray.Retirement. T. WARTON.
The purple asters bloom in crowdsIn every shady nook,And ladies' eardrops deck the banksOf many a babbling brook.Autumn. E.G. EASTMAN.
Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge.Seaside Goldenrod. C. THAXTER.
The aster greets us as we passWith her faint smile.A Day of Indian Summer. S.H.P. WHITMAN.