"Life is before ye!"—Oh, if ye could look Into the secrets of that sealed book, Strong as ye are with youth, and hope, and faith, Ye would sink down, and falter "Give us death!" If the dread Sphinx's lips might once unclose, And utter but a whisper of the woes
My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race,
Which must o'ertake ye in your life-long doom-On that lone shore loud moans the sea, Well might ye cry, “Our cradle be our tomb!" But none, alas! shall mourn for me! Frances Kemble Butler.
Had but the heart that thrills a three years' boy A voice to speak, 't would say that life is joy! Note thou the youth whose impulse nought can
That life is action, tongue and limbs proclaim! The man whom well-spent years from dread re- lease,
Secure in knowledge, tells thee Life is Peace, And the grey sage, who smiles beside the grave, Knows life is all, and death a dusty slave!
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of timeFootprints that, perchance, another, Sailing o'er life's troubled main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, Secing, shall take heart again.
Life is real, life is earnest;
And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest; Was not spoken of the soul.
Thus bravely live heroic men, A consecrated band; Life is to them a battle-field, Their hearts a holy land.
My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scatter'd on the ground to die! Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see — But none shall weep a tear for me.
My life is like the autumn leaf
Life hath but shadows, save a promise given, Which lights the future with a fadeless ray; touch the sceptre! win a hope in heaven; Come, turn thy spirit from the world away! Willis G. Clark
Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death-yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne-the sepulchre, And of the triumph of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment.
Little thinks in the field, you red-cloak'd clown, Of thee from the hill-top looking down;Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbour's creed hath lent,— All are needed by cach and one; Longfellow. Nothing is fair or good alone.
Ralph Waldo Emerson Our life is onward- and our very dust Is longing for its change, that it may take New combinations; that the seed may break From its dark thraldom, where it lies in trust Of its great resurrection.
Mrs. E. O. Smith's Poems. The flow
Of life-time is a graduated scale; And deeper than the vanities of power, Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ A standard measuring its worth for heaven. Willis's Poems,
"T were idle to remember now, Had I the heart, my thwarted schemes; I bear beneath this alter'd brow
The ashes of a thousand dreams; Some wrought of wild ambition's fingers, Some colour'd of Love's pencil well, But none of which a shadow lingers, And none whose story I could tell. Willis's Melanie.
Our souls have holy light within, And every form of grief and sin Shall see and feel its fire.
When the breaking day is flushing All the East, and light is gushing Upward through the horizon's haze, Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays Spreading, until all above Overflows with joy and love,
And below, on earth's green bosom, All is chang'd to light and blossom; Then, O Father!-Thou alone, From the shadow of thy throne, To the sighing of my breast,
And its rapture answerest:
All my thoughts, with upward winging,
Bethe where Thy own light is springing!
Is but an intimation to the soul, That thenceforth spreads a wing without control And seeks its light in immortality; Beating its upward wing against the sky, Impatient of the invisible, and still Catching such golden glimpses of the goal, As make new pulses to emotion thrill, And a new spirit waken.
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd.
What! shall they seek the lion in his den?
And fright him there; and make him tremble there?
A lioness with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tus The royal disposition of that beast,
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. Shaks. As you like n
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his destroying paws: And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. Shaks. Henry VI. Part IIL Poor conquer'd lion from that haughty glance Still speaks the courage unsubdued by time, And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread Lives the proud spirit of thy burning climo O. W. Holmes
The steel-arm'd hunter view'd thee from afar, Fearless and trackless in thy lonely path! The famish'd tiger clos'd his flaming eye, And crouch'd and panted as thy step went by O. W. Holmen
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
That wields the tempest and that rides the sea, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye
Seek not from 'prentices to learn the way, Those fabling boys will turn thy steps astray; Ask the grave tradesman to direct thee right, He ne'er deceives - but when he profits by 't. Gay's Trivia.
The tavern! park! assembly! mask! and play! Those dear destroyers of the tedious day' That wheel of fops! that saunter of the town! Call it diversion, and the pill goes down.
Young's Love of Fame. London! the needy villain's general home, The common sewer of Paris and of Rome; With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. Dr. Johnson's London.
Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire, And now a rabble rages, now a fire; Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, And here the fell attorney prowls for prey; Here falling houses thunder on your head, And here a female atheist talks you dead. Dr. Johnson's London. Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the draggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The seventh day this; the jubilee of man. London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: Then thy soruce citizen, wash'd artisan, And snug apprentice gulp their weekly ai: . Tuy coach of hackney, whisky, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair; Till the tir'd jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Povoking envious gibe from each pedestrian Byron's Childe Harold.
Love is life's end; an end but never ending; All joys, all sweets, all happiness, awarding; Love is life's wealth (ne'er spent but ever spending), More rich by giving, taking by discarding; Love's life's reward, rewarded in rewarding: Then from thy wretched heart fond care remove; Ah! should'st thou live but once love's sweets t prove,
Thou wilt not love to live, unless thou live to love. Spenser's Britain's Ida. The joys of love, if they should ever last Without affliction or disquietness, That worldly chances do among them cast, Would be on earth too great a blessedness, Liker to heaven than mortal wretchedness; Therefore the winged God, to let men weet That here on earth is no sure happiness, A thousand sours hath temper'd with one sweet, To make it seem more dear and dainty, as is meet. Spenser's Fairy Queen.
True he it said, whatever man it said, That love with gall and honey doth abound: ' But if the one be with the other weigh'd, For every drachm of honey therein found A pound of gall doth over it redound.
Spenser's Fairy Queen. Such is the pow'r of that sweet passion,
That it all sordid baseness doth expel, And the refined mind doth newly fashion Unto a fairer form, which now doth dwell In his high thought, that would itself excel, Which he beholding still with constant sight, Admires the mirror of so heavenly light.
Spenser's Hymn in honour of Love.
Nor less was she in heart affected, But that she masked it with modesty, For fear she should of lightness be detected. Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Love is a celestial harmony Of likely hearts, compos'd of stars' consent, Which join together in sweet sympathy, To work each other's joy and true content, Which they have harbour'd since their first descent, Out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see And know each other here belov'd to be.
Spenser's Hymn in honour of Beauty. Love does reign
In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous war: He maketh war, he maketh peace again, And yet his peace is but continual jar: O miserable men that to him subject are.
Spenser's Fairy Queen. Little she ween'd that love he close conceal'd; Yet still he wasted, as the snow congeal'd When the bright sun his beams thereon doth beat. Spenser's Fairy Queen. To love,
It is to be all made of sighs and tears, It is to be all made of faith and service, It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes; All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance.
Shaks. As you like it. Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness: the common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy:-yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. Shaks. As you like it. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns: The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stop'd, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
If ever (as that ever may be near)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make.
I pray you do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not.
Shaks. As you like it
Wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man, Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you, That make the world full of ill-favour'd children. Shaks. As you like it
O how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
O gentle Protheus, love's a mighty lord; And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, There is no woe to his correction, Nor to his service, no such joy on earth! Now, no discourse, except it be of love; Now, can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Upon the very naked name of love.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona As in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona,
This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice: which, with an hour's heat, Dissolves to water, and doth lose its form.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona Hinder not my course;
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona To be in love where scorn is bought with groans Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading mu- ment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights. If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain; If lost, why then a grievous labour won.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verons
In revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watches of mine own heart's sor- row. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Fie, fic! how wayward is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look? O, 't is the curse of love, and still approv'd, When women cannot love, where they're belov'd. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon.
Your eyes are load-stars, and your tongue 's sweet air,
More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being urg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourished with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.
Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over low'ring ills.
O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
I care not for her, I;
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. For now my love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Things base and vile, holding no quality, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream.
Ah me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth. Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. She, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. You thief of love! what, have you come by night, And stol'n my love's heart from him?
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep!
Holy St. Francis! what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou dost love so dear, So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Shaks, Romeo and Juliet, Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo: but, else, not for the world. Shaks. Romeo and Julie
If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. Shaks. Romeo and Juliet
Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-ay;
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