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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent
its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering
Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a
But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that
Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing pur
pose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing
grooves of change.
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
And topples round the dreary west
In Memoriam. xv.
'T is better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.
O Love, O fire ! once he drew
Jewels five words long, That on the stretched forefinger of all time, Sparkle for ever.
The Princess. Canto ii.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Ibid. Canto iv.
Ibid. Canto iy.
Sweet is every sound,
Happy he With such a mother ! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
The Princess. Canto vii.
blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere. Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
’T is only noble to be good.* Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.
For it was in the golden prime
Recollections of the Arabian Nights.
THE world knows nothing of its greatest men.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5. He that lacks time to mourn lacks time to mend. Eternity mourns that.
Ibid. Act i. Sc. 5.
We figure to ourselves The thing we like, and then we build it up As chance will have it, on the rock or sand : For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound fancy runs her bark ashore.
* Cf. Winefreda, page 240.
Such souls Whose sudden visitations daze the world, Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind A voice that in the distance far away Wakens the slumbering ages.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 7.
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.
E live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not
breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most
lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
THOMAS K. HERVEY. 1804-1859.
'HE tomb of him who would have made
The Devil's Progress. He stood beside a cottage lone,
And listened to a lute,
Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles,
But never came to shore ! The Devil's Progress.
A Hebrew knelt, in the dying light,
HER suffering ended with the day, ,
Yet lived she at its close,
In statue-like repose !
But when the sun, in all his state,
Illumed the eastern skies,
And walked in Paradise.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.