Part iv
._
I trust in Nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant And Autumn garner to the end of time. I trust in God,--the right shall be the right And other than the wrong, while he endures. I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward,--Nature's good And God's.
_A Soul's Tragedy. Act i._
Ever judge of men by their professions. For though the bright moment of promising is but a moment, and cannot be prolonged, yet if sincere in its moment's extravagant goodness, why, trust it, and know the man by it, I say,--not by his performance; which is half the world's work, interfere as the world needs must with its accidents and circumstances: the profession was purely the man's own. I judge people by what they might be,--not are, nor will be.
_A Soul's Tragedy. Act ii._
There 's a woman like a dewdrop, she 's so purer than the purest.
_A Blot in the 'Scutcheon. Act i. Sc. iii._
When is man strong until he feels alone?
_Colombe's Birthday. Act iii._
When the fight begins within himself, A man 's worth something.
_Men and Women. Bishop Blougram's Apology._
The sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
_Cleon._
And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.
_Cleon._
Sappho survives, because we sing her songs; And Æschylus, because we read his plays!
_Cleon._
Rafael made a century of sonnets.
_One Word More. ii._
Other heights in other lives, God willing.
_One Word More. xii._
God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides,--one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her!
_One Word More. xvii._
Oh their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, Oh their Dante of the dread Inferno, Wrote one song--and in my brain I sing it; Drew one angel--borne, see, on my bosom!
_One Word More. xix._
The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
_Count Gismond. xiii._
Over my head his arm he flung Against the world.
_Count Gismond. xix._
Just my vengeance complete, The man sprang to his feet, Stood erect, caught at God's skirts, and prayed! So, I was afraid!
_Instans Tyrannus. vii._
Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.
_Waring. ii._
Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.
_The last Ride together. vii._
When the liquor 's out, why clink the cannikin?
_The Flight of the Duchess. xvi._
That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it; This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one,-- His hundred 's soon hit; This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That has the world here--should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him.
_A Grammarian's Funeral._
Lofty designs must close in like effects.
_A Grammarian's Funeral._
I hear you reproach, "But delay was best, For their end was a crime." Oh, a crime will do As well, I reply, to serve for a test As a virtue golden through and through, Sufficient to vindicate itself And prove its worth at a moment's view! . . . . . . Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life's set prize, be it what it will! The counter our lovers staked was lost As surely as if it were lawful coin; And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost Is--the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.
_The Statue and the Bust._
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
_Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. xxxiii._
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
_The Lost Leader. i._
We shall march prospering,--not thro' his presence; Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre; Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.
_The Lost Leader. ii._
They are perfect; how else?--they shall never change: We are faulty; why not?--we have time in store.
_Old Pictures in Florence. xvi._
What 's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practise in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.
_Old Pictures in Florence. xvii._
Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): "Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'"
_De Gustibus. ii._
That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture.
_Home-Thoughts from Abroad. ii._
God made all the creatures, and gave them our love and our fear, To give sign we and they are his children, one family here.
_Saul. vi._
How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
_Saul. ix._
'T is not what man does which exalts him, but what man would do.
_Saul. xvii._
O woman-country![647-1] wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.
_By the Fireside. vi._
That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
_By the Fireside. xxiii._
If two lives join, there is oft a scar. They are one and one, with a shadowy third; One near one is too far.
_By the Fireside. xlvi._
Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
_Two in the Campagna. xii._
Round and round, like a dance of snow In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go Floating the women faded for ages, Sculptured in stone on the poet's pages.
_Women and Roses._
How he lies in his rights of a man! Death has done all death can. And absorbed in the new life he leads, He recks not, he heeds Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike On his senses alike, And are lost in the solemn and strange Surprise of the change.
_After._
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems, and new!
_Memorabilia. i._
He who did well in war just earns the right To begin doing well in peace.
_Luria. Act ii._
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._
A people is but the attempt of many To rise to the completer life of one; And those who live as models for the mass Are singly of more value than they all.
_Luria. Act v._
I count life just a stuff To try the soul's strength on.
_In a Balcony._
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
_Dîs Aliter Visum; or, Le Byron de nos Jours._
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.
_Abt Vogler. ix._
Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
_Rabbi Ben Ezra._
What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me.
_Rabbi Ben Ezra._
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
_Rabbi Ben Ezra._
For life, with all it yields of joy and woe, And hope and fear (believe the aged friend), Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love,-- How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.
_A Death in the Desert._
The body sprang At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,--no!
_A Death in the Desert._
What? Was man made a wheel-work to wind up, And be discharged, and straight wound up anew? No! grown, his growth lasts; taught, he ne'er forgets: May learn a thousand things, not twice the same.
_A Death in the Desert._
For I say this is death and the sole death,-- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.
_A Death in the Desert._
Progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beasts: God is, they are; Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
_A Death in the Desert._
The ultimate, angels' law, Indulging every instinct of the soul There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing!
_A Death in the Desert._
How sad and bad and mad it was! But then, how it was sweet!
_Confessions. ix._
So may a glory from defect arise.
_Deaf and Dumb._
This could but have happened once,-- And we missed it, lost it forever.
_Youth and Art. xvii._
Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face. . . . . . . . No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old; Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold.
_Prospice._
It 's wiser being good than bad; It 's safer being meek than fierce; It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched; That what began best can't end worst, Nor what God blessed once prove accurst.
_Apparent Failure. vii._
In the great right of an excessive wrong.
_The Ring and the Book. The other Half-Rome. Line 1055._
Was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day.
_The Ring and the Book. Pompilia. Line 357._
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
_The Ring and the Book. The Pope. Line 590._
Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
_The Ring and the Book. The Pope. Line 1073._
Why comes temptation, but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?
_The Ring and the Book. The Pope. Line 1185._
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good Compensate bad in man, absolve him so: Life's business being just the terrible choice.
_The Ring and the Book. The Pope. Line 1236._
It is the glory and good of Art That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth,--to mouths like mine, at least.
_The Book and the Ring. The Pope. Line 842._
Thy[651-1] rare gold ring of verse (the poet praised) Linking our England to his Italy.
_The Ring and the Book. The Pope. Line 873._
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
_Balaustion's Adventure._
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed,-- As, God be thanked! I do not.
_The Inn Album. iv._
Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I 'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
_At the "Mermaid." Stanza 10._
"With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart"[652-1] once more! Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!
_House. x._
God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.[652-2]
_Cenciaja._
FOOTNOTES:
[647-1] Italy.
[651-1] Mrs. Browning.
[652-1] See Wordsworth, page 485.
[652-2] See Herbert, page 206.
CHARLES DICKENS. 1812-1870.
A demd, damp, moist, unpleasant body!
_Nicholas Nickleby. Chap. xxxiv._
My life is one demd horrid grind.
_Nicholas Nickleby. Chap. lxiv._
In a Pickwickian sense.
_Pickwick Papers. Chap. i._
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green.
_Pickwick Papers. Chap. vi._
He 's tough, ma'am,--tough is J. B.; tough and devilish sly.
_Dombey and Son. Chap. vii._
When found, make a note of.
_Dombey and Son. Chap. xv._
The bearings of this observation lays in the application on it.
_Dombey and Son. Chap. xxiii._
Barkis is willin'.
_David Copperfield. Chap. v._
Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, all very good words for the lips,--especially prunes and prism.
_Little Dorrit. Book ii . Chap. v._
Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the public departments in the art of perceiving HOW NOT TO DO IT.
_Little Dorrit.