I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. Locksley Ball. I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time. Ibid. Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. Ibid. Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. And topples round the dreary west Ibid. 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 Ibid. xxvii. With one long kiss my whole soul through Fatima. St. 3. Jewels five-words long, That on the stretched forefinger of all time, The Princess. Canto ii. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Ibid, Canto iv. Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; O Death in Life, the days that are no more. The Princess. Canto iv. Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Ibid. Canto vii. 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. From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Ibid. 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 Of good Haroun Alraschid. Ibid. Recollections of the Arabian Nights. *Cf. Winefreda, page 254. HENRY TAYLOR. 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 Such souls Whose sudden visitations daze the world, Wakens the slumbering ages. Ibid. Act i. Sc. 7. PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. We 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. Festus. THOMAS K. HERVEY. 1804-1859. The tomb of him who would have made The world too glad and free. The Devil's Progress. He stood beside a cottage lone, And listened to a lute, One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone, Ibid. Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles, But never came to shore! Ibid. A Hebrew knelt, in the dying light, His eye was dim and cold, The hairs on his brow were silver-white, And his blood was thin and old.. Ibid. JAMES ALDRICH. 1810-1856. Her suffering ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And breathed the long, long night away, In statue-like repose! But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, A Death-Bed. She passed through Glory's morning gate, And walked in Paradise. Ibid. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language. Go forth, under the open sky, and list Thanatopsis. To Nature's teachings. Ibid. Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, The stormy March has come at last, With wind and clouds and changing skies I hear the rushing of the blast Ibid. That through the snowy valley flies. March. The groves were God's first temples. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Forest Hymn. Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. The melancholy days are come, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, And meadows brown and sear. Autumn Woods. The Death of the Flowers. |