Order, thou eye of action! wanting thee,
Wisdom works hoodwink'd in perplexity;
Entangled reason trips at every pace,
And truth, bespotted, puts on error's face.

AARON HILL

Order IS heaven's first law; and this confess'd,
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest.

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
Beneath the mountain shadow.

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,
To wish their vile remembrance may remain !

And stand recorded, at their own request,
To future days, a libel or a jest.

Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born,
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,

Who cities raised, or tamed a monstrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,

And legislators seem to think in stone.

DRYDEN

POPE'S Temple of Fame

All that imagination's power could trace,
Breath'd in the Pencil's imitative grace;

O'er all the canvas, form, and soul, and feeling,
That wondrous art infus'd with power of life;

Portray'd each pulse, each passion's might revealing,
Sorrow and joy, life, hatred, fear, and strife.

From the Spanish

This is the pictur'd likeness of my love:
How true to life! It seems to breathe and move;
Fire, love, and sweetness o'er each feature melt;
The face expresses all the spirit felt;

Here, while I gaze within those large, dark eyes,
I almost see the living spirit rise;

While lights and shadows, all harmonious, glow,
And heavenly radiance settles on that brow.
And then that mouth! - how tranquil its repose!

Sleeping in fragrance, like a sleeping rose ;
It seems the ruby gate of love and bliss,

Just forin'd to murmur sighs, to smile, and kiss!

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

PASSIONS - FEELING.

His pencil was striking, resistless and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.

441

PASSIONS-FEELING.

Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams;
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH

A little fire is quickly trodden out,
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd,
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire.

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,
On savage stocks inserted, learn to bear,
The surest virtues thus from passions shoot,
Wild nature's vigour working at the root.

SHAKSPEARE

SHAKSPEARE

POPE'S Essay on Man.

442

PASSIONS - FEELING.

The ruling passion, be it what it will,
The ruling passion conquers reason still.

POPE.

Like mighty rivers, with resistless force
The passions rage, obstructed in their course,
Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And drown those virtues which they fed before.

The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.

POPE.

BROOKE.

When headstrong passion gets the reins of reason,
The force of nature, like too strong a gale,
For want of ballast, oversets the vessel.

HIGGONS.

While passions glow, the heart, like heated steel,
Takes each impression, and is worked at pleasure.

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,
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visag'd, comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.

His soul, like bark with rudder lost,
On passion's changeful tide was toss'd;
Nor vice nor virtue had the power
Beyond the impression of the hour:-
And, Oh, when passion rules, how rare
The hours that fall to virtue's share!

GRAY

SCOTT'S Rokeby

PASSIONS - FEELING.

How terrible is passion! how our reason
Falls down before it, while the tortur'd frame,
Like a ship dash'd by fierce encountering tides,
And of her pilot spoil'd, drives round and round,
The sport of wind and wave.

BARFORD'S Virgin Queen.

The passions are a numerous crowd,
Imperious, positive, and loud.

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,
Throbs, by turn, with joy and pain!

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
Throbb'd, as if back upon his brain
The hot blood ebb'd and flow'd again.

BYRON'S Giuour.

BYRON'S Parisina