Order, thou eye of action! wanting thee, AARON HILL Order IS heaven's first law; and this confess'd, POPE'S Essay on Man. PAIN. The poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal suffering feels a pang as great Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust Crisps the reluctant lake, that lay so calm A saint had cried out, Even with the crown of glory in his eyes, At such inhuman artifice of pain As was forced on him. BYRON. BYRON'S Two Foscar 440 PAINTING-PORTRAIT. PAINTING — PORTRAIT. Good heaven! that sots and knaves should be so vain, And stand recorded, at their own request, Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born, Who cities raised, or tamed a monstrous race, And legislators seem to think in stone. DRYDEN POPE'S Temple of Fame All that imagination's power could trace, O'er all the canvas, form, and soul, and feeling, Portray'd each pulse, each passion's might revealing, From the Spanish This is the pictur'd likeness of my love: Here, while I gaze within those large, dark eyes, While lights and shadows, all harmonious, glow, Sleeping in fragrance, like a sleeping rose ; Just forin'd to murmur sighs, to smile, and kiss! MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. PASSIONS - FEELING. His pencil was striking, resistless and grand; His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. 441 PASSIONS-FEELING. Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams; A little fire is quickly trodden out, Affection is a coal that must be cool'd, As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, SHAKSPEARE SHAKSPEARE POPE'S Essay on Man. 442 PASSIONS - FEELING. The ruling passion, be it what it will, POPE. Like mighty rivers, with resistless force The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules. POPE. BROOKE. When headstrong passion gets the reins of reason, HIGGONS. While passions glow, the heart, like heated steel, YOUNG'S Busiris. Then shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind; Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame, that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, That inly gnaws the secret heart; His soul, like bark with rudder lost, GRAY SCOTT'S Rokeby PASSIONS - FEELING. How terrible is passion! how our reason BARFORD'S Virgin Queen. The passions are a numerous crowd, O, how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along; 443 Make us the madness of their will obey; Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey ! CRABBE. Ah! within my bosom beating, Varying passions wildly reign; Love, with proud resentment meeting, The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name. But mine was like the lava-flood That boils in Etna's breast of flame. For on his brow the swelling vein BYRON'S Giuour. BYRON'S Parisina |