Part ii
. 2._
And last of all an Admiral came, A terrible man with a terrible name,-- A name which you all know by sight very well, But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
_The March to Moscow. Stanza 8._
They sin who tell us love can die; With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. . . . . . 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.
_The Curse of Kehama. Canto x. Stanza 10._
Oh, when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight?
_The Curse of Kehama. Canto x. Stanza 11._
Thou hast been called, O sleep! the friend of woe; But 't is the happy that have called thee so.
_The Curse of Kehama. Canto xv. Stanza 11._
The Satanic School.
_Vision of Judgment. Original Preface._
FOOTNOTES:
[506-1] See Burke, page 408.
[507-1] See Coleridge, page 501.
[507-2] "Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," As some one somewhere sings about the sky.
BYRON: _Don Juan, canto iv. stanza 110._
CHARLES LAMB. 1775-1834.
The red-letter days now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.
_Oxford in the Vacation._
For with G. D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak profanely) to be present with the Lord.
_Oxford in the Vacation._
A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.
_Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist._
Sentimentally I am disposed to harmony; but organically I am incapable of a tune.
_A Chapter on Ears._
Not if I know myself at all.
_The Old and New Schoolmaster._
It is good to love the unknown.
_Valentine's Day._
The pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed), resembling--a homely fancy, but I judged it to be sugar-candy; yet to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy.
_My First Play._
Presents, I often say, endear absents.
_A Dissertation upon Roast Pig._
It argues an insensibility.
_A Dissertation upon Roast Pig._
Books which are no books.
_Detached Thoughts on Books._
Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.
_Amicus Redivivus._
Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.
_Hester. Stanza 7._
I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days. All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
_Old Familiar Faces._
For thy sake, tobacco, I Would do anything but die.
_A Farewell to Tobacco._
And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.
_Written at Cambridge._
Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . . . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . . . . . . Sabbathless Satan!
_Work._
I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society.
_Captain Starkey._
Neat, not gaudy.[510-1]
_Letter to Wordsworth, 1806._
Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold!
_Lamb's Suppers._
Returning to town in the stage-coach, which was filled with Mr. Gilman's guests, we stopped for a minute or two at Kentish Town. A woman asked the coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb put his head through the window and said, "I am quite full inside; that last piece of pudding at Mr. Gilman's did the business for me."
_Autobiographical Recollections._ (Leslie.)
FOOTNOTES:
[510-1] See Shakespeare, page 130.
JAMES SMITH. 1775-1839.
No Drury Lane for you to-day.
_Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Début._
I saw them go: one horse was blind, The tails of both hung down behind, Their shoes were on their feet.
_Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Début._
Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.
_The Theatre._
WILLIAM PITT. ---- -1840.
A strong nor'-wester 's blowing, Bill! Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore now!
_The Sailor's Consolation._
My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots About their heads are flying!
_The Sailor's Consolation._
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 1775-1864.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
_Rose Aylmer._
Wearers of rings and chains! Pray do not take the pains To set me right. In vain my faults ye quote; I write as others wrote On Sunium's hight.
_The last Fruit of an old Tree. Epigram cvi._
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's,[511-1]-- Therefore on him no speech! And brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walk'd along our roads with steps So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse.
_To Robert Browning._
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
_To Robert Browning._
But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave: Shake one, and it awakens; then apply Its polisht lips to your attentive ear, And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.[512-1]
_Gebir.