book iv

. line 389._

[549-1] Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose!

GOETHE: _Wilhelm Meister._

[550-1] See Gray, page 382.

[550-2] See Lovelace, page 259. Browne, page 218.

[550-3] Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant (They make solitude, which they call peace).--TACITUS: _Agricola, c. 30._

[550-4] I came to the place of my birth, and cried, "The friends of my youth, where are they?" And echo answered, "Where are they?"--_Arabic MS._

[550-5] See Churchill, page 413.

To all nations their empire will be dreadful, because their ships will sail wherever billows roll or winds can waft them.--DALRYMPLE: _Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 152._

[551-1] See Burton, page 186.

[551-2] The subject of these lines was Mrs. R. Wilmot.--_Berry Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 7._

[552-1] See Congreve, page 294.

[552-2] Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa (Nature made him, and then broke the mould).--ARIOSTO: _Orlando Furioso, canto x. stanza 84._

The idea that Nature lost the perfect mould has been a favorite one with all song-writers and poets, and is found in the literature of all European nations.--_Book of English Songs, p. 28._

[553-1] She floats upon the river of his thoughts.--LONGFELLOW: _The Spanish Student, act ii. sc. 3._

[553-2] With a heart for any fate.--LONGFELLOW: _A Psalm of Life._

[554-1] My heart is wax to be moulded as she pleases, but enduring as marble to retain.--CERVANTES: _The Little Gypsy._

[555-1] Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona Multi.

HORACE: _Ode iv. 9. 25._

[556-1] See Middleton, page 173.

[557-1] Dans les premières passions les femmes aiment l'amant, et dans les autres elles aiment l'amour.--ROCHEFOUCAULD: _Maxim 471._

[558-1] See Shakespeare, page 63.

[558-2] See Dryden, page 277.

[558-3] See Wordsworth, page 479.

[558-4] All her innocent thoughts Like rose-leaves scatter'd.

JOHN WILSON: _On the Death of a Child._ (1812.)

[559-1] See Southey, page 507.

[559-2] See Robert Walpole, page 304.

[560-1] What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind.--T. H. KEY (once Head Master of University College School). On the authority of F. J. Furnivall.

[560-2] For a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of anything than he does of his dinner.--PIOZZI: _Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson, p. 149._

[561-1] See Lady Montagu, page 350.

WILLIAM KNOX. 1789-1825.

Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passes from life to his rest in the grave.[561-2]

_Mortality._[561-3]

FOOTNOTES:

[561-2] Abraham Lincoln was very fond of repeating these lines.

[561-3] From Knox's "Songs of Israel," 1824.

ALFRED BUNN. 1790-1860.

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs at my side.

_Song._

The light of other days[561-4] is faded, And all their glories past.

_Song._

The heart bowed down by weight of woe To weakest hope will cling.

_Song._

FOOTNOTES:

[561-4] See Moore, page 523.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 1790-1867.

Strike--for your altars and your fires! Strike--for the green graves of your sires! God, and your native land!

_Marco Bozzaris._

Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother's, when she feels For the first time her first-born's breath! Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke! Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm! Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet song, and dance, and wine! And thou art terrible!--the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know or dream or fear Of agony are thine.

_Marco Bozzaris._

But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be.

_Marco Bozzaris._

One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die.

_Marco Bozzaris._

Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, Shrines to no code or creed confined,-- The Delphian vales, the Palestines, The Meccas of the mind.

_Burns._

Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee,[562-1] Nor named thee but to praise.

_On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake._

There is an evening twilight of the heart, When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest.

_Twilight._

They love their land because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his Majesty.

_Connecticut._

This bank-note world.

_Alnwick Castle._

Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt, The Douglas in red herrings.

_Alnwick Castle._

FOOTNOTES:

[562-1] See Rogers, page 455.

CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried.

_The Burial of Sir John Moore._

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

_The Burial of Sir John Moore._

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

_The Burial of Sir John Moore._

If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be.

_To Mary._

Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light, ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore.

_To Mary._

Go, forget me! why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me, and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing! Smile,--though I shall not be near thee; Sing,--though I shall never hear thee!

_Go, forget me!_

HENRY HART MILMAN. 1791-1868.

And the cold marble leapt to life a god.

_The Belvedere Apollo._

Too fair to worship, too divine to love.

_The Belvedere Apollo._

CHARLES SPRAGUE. 1791-1875.

Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age.

_Curiosity._

Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends.

_Curiosity._

Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days.

_Centennial Ode. Stanza 22._

Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors' spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.

_To my Cigar._

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822.

Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.

_The Revolt of Islam. Dedication. Stanza 6._

With hue like that when some great painter dips His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.

_The Revolt of Islam. Canto v. Stanza 23._

The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.

_Hymn to Intellectual Beauty._

The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.

_Adonais. xxx._

A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift.

_Adonais. xxxii._

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity.

_Adonais. lii._

Oh thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth.

_Ode to the West Wind._

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.

_Ode to the West Wind._

That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.

_The Cloud. iv._

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

_To a Skylark. Line 86._

Kings are like stars,--they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.[565-1]

_Hellas. Line 195._

The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on.

_Hellas. Line 221._

The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn.

_Hellas. Line 1060._

What! alive, and so bold, O earth?

_Written on hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon._

All love is sweet, Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever. . . . . . . They who inspire it most are fortunate, As I am now; but those who feel it most Are happier still.[566-1]

_Prometheus Unbound. Act ii. Sc. 5._

Those who inflict must suffer, for they see The work of their own hearts, and this must be Our chastisement or recompense.

_Julian and Maddalo. Line 482._

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.[566-2]

_Julian and Maddalo. Line 544._

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear.

_Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples. Stanza 4._

Peter was dull; he was at first Dull,--oh so dull, so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed, Still with this dulness was he cursed! Dull,--beyond all conception, dull.

_Peter Bell the Third.