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[544:2]
Good bye, proud world; I 'm going home.
Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine.
Emerson: Good Bye, proud World.
See Johnson, page 374.
[545:1] See Wordsworth, page 474.
[545:2] A translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja: "Italia, Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte."
[546:1] See Wordsworth, page 478.
[546:2] Literally the exclamation of the pilgrims in the eighth century.
[547:1] See Cowper, page 418.
[547:2] See Pope, page 341.
[547:3]
And thou vast ocean, on whose awful face
Time's iron feet can print no ruin-trace.
Robert Montgomery: The Omnipresence of the Deity.
[548:1]
He laid his hand upon "the ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks.
Pollok: The Course of Time, book iv. line 389.
[549:1]
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom,
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows,
And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose!
Goethe: Wilhelm Meister.
[550:1] See Gray, page 382.
[550:2] See Lovelace, page 259. Browne, page 218.
[550:3] Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant (They make solitude, which they call peace).—Tacitus: Agricola, c. 30.
[550:4] I came to the place of my birth, and cried, "The friends of my youth, where are they?" And echo answered, "Where are they?"—Arabic MS.
[550:5] See Churchill, page 413.
To all nations their empire will be dreadful, because their ships will sail wherever billows roll or winds can waft them.—Dalrymple: Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 152.
[551:1] See Burton, page 186.
[551:2] The subject of these lines was Mrs. R. Wilmot.—Berry Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 7.
[552:1] See Congreve, page 294.
[552:2] Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa (Nature made him, and then broke the mould).—Ariosto: Orlando Furioso, canto x. stanza 84.
The idea that Nature lost the perfect mould has been a favorite one with all song-writers and poets, and is found in the literature of all European nations.—Book of English Songs, p. 28.
[553:1] She floats upon the river of his thoughts.—Longfellow: The Spanish Student, act ii. sc. 3.
[553:2] With a heart for any fate.—Longfellow: A Psalm of Life.
[554:1] My heart is wax to be moulded as she pleases, but enduring as marble to retain.—Cervantes: The Little Gypsy.
[555:1]
Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi.
Horace: Ode iv. 9. 25.
[556:1] See Middleton, page 173.
[557:1] Dans les premières passions les femmes aiment l'amant, et dans les autres elles aiment l'amour.—Rochefoucauld: Maxim 471.
[558:1] See Shakespeare, page 63.
[558:2] See Dryden, page 277.
[558:3] See Wordsworth, page 479.
[558:4]
All her innocent thoughts
Like rose-leaves scatter'd.
John Wilson: On the Death of a Child. (1812.)
[559:1] See Southey, page 507.
[559:2] See Robert Walpole, page 304.
[560:1] What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind.—T. H. Key (once Head Master of University College School). On the authority of F. J. Furnivall.
[560:2] For a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of anything than he does of his dinner.—Piozzi: Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson, p. 149.
[561:1] See Lady Montagu, page 350.
WILLIAM KNOX. 1789-1825.Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.[561:2]
Mortality.[561:3]
[561:2] Abraham Lincoln was very fond of repeating these lines.
[561:3] From Knox's "Songs of Israel," 1824.
ALFRED BUNN. 1790-1860.I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,
With vassals and serfs at my side.
Song.
The light of other days[561:4] is faded,
And all their glories past.
Song.
The heart bowed down by weight of woe
To weakest hope will cling.
Song.
[561:4] See Moore, page 523.
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 1790-1867.Strike—for your altars and your fires!
Strike—for the green graves of your sires!
God, and your native land!
Marco Bozzaris.
[562]
Come to the bridal chamber, Death!
Come to the mother's, when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath!
Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke!
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm!
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet song, and dance, and wine!
And thou art terrible!—the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know or dream or fear
Of agony are thine.
Marco Bozzaris.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Marco Bozzaris.
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
Marco Bozzaris.
Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines,
Shrines to no code or creed confined,—
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind.
Burns.
Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,[562:1]
Nor named thee but to praise.
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.
There is an evening twilight of the heart,
When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest.
Twilight.
[563]
They love their land because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his Majesty.
Connecticut.
This bank-note world.
Alnwick Castle.
Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt,
The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt,
The Douglas in red herrings.
Alnwick Castle.
[562:1] See Rogers, page 455.
CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823.Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried.
The Burial of Sir John Moore.
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
The Burial of Sir John Moore.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory.
The Burial of Sir John Moore.
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be.
To Mary.
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light, ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore.
To Mary.
Go, forget me! why should sorrow
O'er that brow a shadow fling?
Go, forget me, and to-morrow
Brightly smile and sweetly sing!
Smile,—though I shall not be near thee;
Sing,—though I shall never hear thee!
Go, forget me!
[564]
HENRY HART MILMAN. 1791-1868.And the cold marble leapt to life a god.
The Belvedere Apollo.
Too fair to worship, too divine to love.
The Belvedere Apollo.
CHARLES SPRAGUE. 1791-1875.Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage,
Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age.
Curiosity.
Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends,
An incarnation of fat dividends.
Curiosity.
Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze
We lift our heads, a race of other days.
Centennial Ode. Stanza 22.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;
Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.
To my Cigar.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822.Then black despair,
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone.
The Revolt of Islam. Dedication. Stanza 6.
With hue like that when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.
The Revolt of Islam. Canto v. Stanza 23.
The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty.
[565]
The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
Over his living head like heaven is bent,
An early but enduring monument,
Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song
In sorrow.
Adonais. xxx.
A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift.
Adonais. xxxii.
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity.
Adonais. lii.
Oh thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth.
Ode to the West Wind.
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams
Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
Ode to the West Wind.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon.
The Cloud. iv.
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
To a Skylark. Line 86.
Kings are like stars,—they rise and set, they have
The worship of the world, but no repose.[565:1]
Hellas. Line 195.
[566]
The moon of Mahomet
Arose, and it shall set;
While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon,
The cross leads generations on.
Hellas. Line 221.
The world's great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn.
Hellas. Line 1060.
What! alive, and so bold, O earth?
Written on hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon.
All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
. . . . .
They who inspire it most are fortunate,
As I am now; but those who feel it most
Are happier still.[566:1]
Prometheus Unbound. Act ii. Sc. 5.
Those who inflict must suffer, for they see
The work of their
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