FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS. (continued 9)

Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . . . Sabbathless Satan! Work.

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves [510]The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

No Drury Lane for you to-day. Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Début.

I saw them go: one horse was blind, The tails of both hung down behind, Their shoes were on their feet. Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Début.

Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait. The Theatre.

A strong nor'-wester 's blowing, Bill! Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore now! The Sailor's Consolation.

My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots About their heads are flying! The Sailor's Consolation.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee. Rose Aylmer.

Wearers of rings and chains! Pray do not take the pains To set me right. In vain my faults ye quote; I write as others wrote On Sunium's hight. The last Fruit of an old Tree. Epigram cvi.

Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's,[511:1]— Therefore on him no speech! And brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walk'd along our roads with steps So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. To Robert Browning.

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. To Robert Browning.

But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave: Shake one, and it awakens; then apply Its polisht lips to your attentive ear, [512]And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.[512:1] Gebir. Book i. (1798).

Past are three summers since she first beheld The ocean; all around the child await Some exclamation of amazement here. She coldly said, her long-lasht eyes abased, Is this the mighty ocean? is this all? That wondrous soul Charoba once possest,— Capacious, then, as earth or heaven could hold, Soul discontented with capacity,— Is gone (I fear) forever. Need I say She was enchanted by the wicked spells Of Gebir, whom with lust of power inflamed The western winds have landed on our coast? I since have watcht her in lone retreat, Have heard her sigh and soften out the name.[512:2] Gebir. Book ii.

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved; and next to Nature, Art. I warm'd both hands against the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart. Dying Speech of an old Philosopher.

'T is distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.[512:3] Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 7.

But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind. Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 40.

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save! Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 359.

Hope for a season bade the world farewell, And Freedom shriek'd as Kosciusko fell![513:1] Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 381.

On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below. Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 385.

And rival all but Shakespeare's name below. Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 472.

Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name? Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 5.

Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh what were man?—a world without a sun. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 21.

The world was sad, the garden was a wild, And man the hermit sigh'd—till woman smiled. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 37.

While Memory watches o'er the sad review Of joys that faded like the morning dew. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 45.

There shall he love when genial morn appears, Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 95.

And muse on Nature with a poet's eye. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 98.

That gems the starry girdle of the year. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 194.

Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul! Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 263.

O star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair? Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 325.

But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.[513:2] Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 357.

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave, oh leave the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been Like angel visits, few and far between.[514:1] Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 375.

The hunter and the deer a shade.[514:2] O'Connor's Child. Stanza 5.

Another's sword has laid him low, Another's and another's; And every hand that dealt the blow— Ah me! it was a brother's! O'Connor's Child. Stanza 10.

'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.[514:3] Lochiel's Warning.

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field and his feet to the foe, And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. Lochiel's Warning.

And rustic life and poverty Grow beautiful beneath his touch. Ode to the Memory of Burns.

Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, Whose truths electrify the sage. Ode to the Memory of Burns.

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Ye Mariners of England.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. Ye Mariners of England.

When the stormy winds do blow;[515:1] When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. Ye Mariners of England.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Ye Mariners of England.

There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath For a time. Battle of the Baltic.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry! Hohenlinden.

Few, few shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. Hohenlinden.

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. The Exile of Erin.

To bear is to conquer our fate. On visiting a Scene in Argyleshire.

The sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.[515:2] The Soldier's Dream.

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young. The Soldier's Dream.

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. The Soldier's Dream.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. To the Rainbow.

A stoic of the woods,—a man without a tear. Gertrude of Wyoming. Part i. Stanza 23.

O Love! in such a wilderness as this. Gertrude of Wyoming. Part iii. Stanza 1.

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below! Gertrude of Wyoming. Part iii. Stanza 5.

Again to the battle, Achaians! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance! Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree, It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free. Song of the Greeks.

Drink ye to her that each loves best! And if you nurse a flame That 's told but to her mutual breast, We will not ask her name. Drink ye to Her.

To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die. Hallowed Ground.

Oh leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree![516:1] The Beech-Tree's Petition.

And the star-spangled banner, oh long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! The Star-Spangled Banner.

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation![517:1] Then conquer we must when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. The Star-Spangled Banner.

Thinking is but an idle waste of thought, And nought is everything and everything is nought. Rejected Addresses. Cui Bono?

In the name of the Prophet—figs. Johnson's Ghost.

And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory. Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition.

When Time who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The mem'ry of the past will stay, And half our joys renew. Song. From Juvenile Poems.

Weep on! and as thy sorrows flow, I 'll taste the luxury of woe. Anacreontic.

Where bastard Freedom waves The fustian flag in mockery over slaves. To the Lord Viscount Forbes, written from the City of Washington.

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? To Thomas Hume.

I knew, by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near; And I said, "If there 's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here." Ballad Stanzas.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. A Canadian Boat-Song.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past. A Canadian Boat-Song.

Like a young eagle who has lent his plume To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, See their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart Which rank corruption destines for their heart.[518:1] Corruption.

A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade. Intercepted Letters. Letter vi.

There was a little man, and he had a little soul; And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try! Little Man and Little Soul.

Go where glory waits thee![519:1] But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me! Go where Glory waits thee.

Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid, Oh breathe not his Name.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. Oh breathe not his Name.

The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more. The Harp that once through Tara's Halls.

Who ran Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all. On the Death of Sheridan.

Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade. On the Death of Sheridan.

Good at a fight, but better at a play; Godlike in giving, but the devil to pay. On a Cast of Sheridan's Hand.

Though an angel should write, still 't is devils must print. The Fudges in England. Letter iii.

Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon. Fly not yet.

Oh stay! oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain To break its links so soon. Fly not yet.

When did morning ever break, And find such beaming eyes awake? Fly not yet.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. Oh think not my Spirits are always as light.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore. Rich and rare were the Gems she wore.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet. The Meeting of the Waters.

Oh, weep for the hour When to Eveleen's bower The lord of the valley with false vows came. Eveleen's Bower.

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Come, send round the Wine.

No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turn'd when he rose. Believe me, if all those endearing young Charms.

The moon looks On many brooks "The brook can see no moon but this."[521:1] While gazing on the Moon's Light.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon. Ill Omens.

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near. 'T is sweet to think.

'T is believ'd that this harp which I wake now for thee Was a siren of old who sung under the sea. The Origin of the Harp.

But there 's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream. Love's Young Dream.

To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee.[521:2] I saw thy Form.

Eyes of unholy blue. By that Lake whose gloomy Shore.

'T is the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone. The Last Rose of Summer.

When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone? The Last Rose of Summer.

And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear. The Young May Moon.

You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. Farewell! But whenever you welcome the Hour.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveller at first goes out, He feels awhile benighted, And looks around in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds. I 'd mourn the Hopes.

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us. Come o'er the Sea.

The light that lies In woman's eyes. The Time I 've lost in wooing.

My only books Were woman's looks,— And folly 's all they 've taught me. The Time I 've lost in wooing.

I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, I but know that I love thee whatever thou art. Come, rest in this Bosom.

To live and die in scenes like this, With some we 've left behind us. As slow our Ship.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea. Remember Thee.

All that 's bright must fade,— The brightest still the fleetest; All that 's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest. All that 's Bright must fade.

Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime! Those Evening Bells.

Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken. Oft in the Stilly Night.

I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed. Oft in the Stilly Night.

As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun 's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances! Peace be around Thee.

If I speak to thee in friendship's name, Thou think'st I speak too coldly; If I mention love's devoted flame, Thou say'st I speak too boldly. How shall I woo?

A friendship that like love is warm; A love like friendship, steady. How shall I woo?

The bird let loose in Eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; [524]But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. Oh that I had Wings.

This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,— There 's nothing true but Heaven. This World is all a fleeting Show.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd,—his people are free. Sound the loud Timbrel.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee. The Heart's Prayer.

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. Come, ye Disconsolate.

Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold. Oh call it by some better Name.

When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love. When Twilight Dews.

I give thee all,—I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.[525:1] My Heart and Lute.

Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam? The Dream of Home.

To Greece we give our shining blades. Evenings in Greece. First Evening.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power. Evenings in Greece. First Evening.

If thou would'st have me sing and play As once I play'd and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung. If Thou would'st have Me sing and play.

To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by. The Blue Stocking.

Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains. On the Entry of the Austrians into Naples, 1821.

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future,—two eternities! Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.

But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.

There 's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream. Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.

Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, Grow pure by being purely shone upon. Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.

One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate. Paradise and the Peri.

Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years,— One minute of heaven is worth them all. Paradise and the Peri.

But the trail of the serpent is over them all. Paradise and the Peri.

Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well And love me, it was sure to die. The Fire-Worshippers.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might! The Fire-Worshippers.

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell. The Fire-Worshippers.

As sunshine broken in the rill, Though turned astray, is sunshine still. The Fire-Worshippers.

Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea. The Fire-Worshippers.

Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, [527]Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity. Lalla Rookh. The Light of the Harem.

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die. Lalla Rookh. The Light of the Harem.

And oh if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this! Lalla Rookh. The Light of the Harem.

Humility, that low, sweet root From which all heavenly virtues shoot. The Loves of the Angels. The Third Angel's Story.

'T was the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring,—not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. A Visit from St. Nicholas.

The scene was more beautiful far to the eye Than if day in its pride had arrayed it. The Beacon.

And o'er them the lighthouse looked lovely as hope,— That star of life's tremulous ocean. The Beacon.

Though man a thinking being is defined, Few use the grand prerogative of mind. How few think justly of the thinking few! How many never think, who think they do! Essays in Rhyme. (On Morals and Manners. Prejudice.) Essay i. Stanza 45.

Far from mortal cares retreating, Sordid hopes and vain desires, Here, our willing footsteps meeting, Every heart to heaven aspires. Hymn.

I thank the goodness and the grace Which on my birth have smiled, And made me, in these Christian days, A happy Christian child. A Child's Hymn of Praise.

Oh that it were my chief delight To do the things I ought! Then let me try with all my might To mind what I am taught. For a Very Little Child.[535:1]

Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well? My mother. My Mother.

Failed the bright promise of your early day. Palestine.

No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung; Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.[535:2] Majestic silence! Palestine.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid. Epiphany.

By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! First Sunday after Epiphany. No. ii.

When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil. Seventh Sunday after Trinity.

Death rides on every passing breeze, He lurks in every flower. At a Funeral. No. i.

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb. At a Funeral. No. ii.

Thus heavenly hope is all serene, But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene, As false and fleeting as 't is fair. On Heavenly Hope and Earthly Hope.

From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand. Missionary Hymn.

Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile. Missionary Hymn.

I see them on their winding way, About their ranks the moonbeams play. Lines written to a March.

No workman's steel, no ponderous axes rung, Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. Abou Ben Adhem.

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men. Abou Ben Adhem.

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. Abou Ben Adhem.

Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook! Politics and Poetics.

With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks. The Story of Rimini.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view. The Old Oaken Bucket.

Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The Old Oaken Bucket.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. The Old Oaken Bucket.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

When looks were fond and words were few. Poet's Bridal-day Song.

A weapon that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod; But executes a freeman's will, As lightning does the will of God; And from its force nor doors nor locks Can shield you,—'t is the ballot-box. A Word from a Petitioner.

From every place below the skies The grateful song, the fervent prayer,— The incense of the heart,[538:1]—may rise To heaven, and find acceptance there. Every Place a Temple.

The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! The Sea.

I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above and the blue below, And silence wheresoe'er I go. The Sea.

I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more. The Sea.

Touch us gently, Time![538:2] Let us glide adown thy stream Gently,—as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream. Touch us gently, Time.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

I only know we loved in vain; I only feel—farewell! farewell! Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years. When we Two parted.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.

'T is pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book 's a book, although there 's nothing in 't. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 51.

With just enough of learning to misquote. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 66.

As soon Seek roses in December, ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that 's false, before You trust in critics. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 75.

Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 326.

Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name! English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 399.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.[539:1] English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 826.

Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,— Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 839.

Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart! Maid of Athens.

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 5.

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 7.

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 9.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 10.

Might shake the saintship of an anchorite. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 11.

Adieu! adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 13.

My native land, good night! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 13.

O Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 15.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 20.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 40.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.[540:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 82.

War, war is still the cry,—"war even to the knife!"[541:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 86.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.[541:2] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 6.

Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy? Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 23.

None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 24.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 26.

Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 28.

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 73.

Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not, Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow? Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 76.

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state: An hour may lay it in the dust. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 84.

Land of lost gods and godlike men. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 85.

Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 88.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 88.

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 1.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 2.

I am as a weed Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 2.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,[542:1] So that no wonder waits him. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 5.

Years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb, And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 8.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 21.

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it?—No! 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 22.

He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 23.

And there was mounting in hot haste. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 25.

Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!" Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 25.

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 27.

Battle's magnificently stern array. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 28.

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 32.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 42.

He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 45.

All tenantless, save to the crannying wind. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 47.

The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 55.

He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 57.

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 70.

By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 71.

I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me;[543:1] and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 72.

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 85.

On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 86.

All is concentr'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 89.

In solitude, where we are least alone.[544:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 90.

The sky is changed,—and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 92.

Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 107.

Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 107.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.[544:2] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 113.

I stood Among them, but not of them; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 113.

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 3.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 10.

Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo, The octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe![545:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 12.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 19.

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 23.

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,—too many, yet how few! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 24.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till—'t is gone, and all is gray. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 29.

The Ariosto of the North. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 40.

Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.[545:2] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 42.

Fills The air around with beauty. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 49.

Let these describe the undescribable. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 53.

The starry Galileo with his woes. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 54.

Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar, Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 57.

The poetry of speech. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 58.

The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 69.

Then farewell Horace, whom I hated so,— Not for thy faults, but mine. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 77.

O Rome! my country! city of the soul! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 78.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 79.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 98.

Heaven gives its favourites—early death.[546:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 102.

History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 108.

Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 109.

Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 110.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 115.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 120.

I see before me the gladiator lie. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 140.

There were his young barbarians all at play; There was their Dacian mother: he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 141.

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls—the world."[546:2] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 145.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 168.

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place,[547:1] With one fair spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And hating no one, love but only her! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 177.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; There is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 178.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin,—his control Stops with the shore. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 179.

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.[547:2] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 179.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,— Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.[547:3] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 182.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 183.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy [548]I wantoned with thy breakers, . . . . . And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane,—as I do here.[548:1] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 184.

And what is writ is writ,— Would it were worthier! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 185.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been,— A sound which makes us linger; yet—farewell! Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 186.

Hands promiscuously applied, Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side. The Waltz.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled,— The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, Before decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers. The Giaour. Line 68.

Such is the aspect of this shore; 'T is Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. The Giaour. Line 90.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? The Giaour. Line 106.

For freedom's battle, once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. The Giaour. Line 123.

And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own; And every woe a tear can claim, Except an erring sister's shame. The Giaour. Line 418.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed. The Giaour. Line 957.

Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock. The Giaour. Line 969.

The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name. The Giaour. Line 1099.

I die,—but first I have possess'd, And come what may, I have been bless'd. The Giaour. Line 1114.

She was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire. The Giaour. Line 1127.

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?[549:1] The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 1.

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all save the spirit of man is divine? The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 1.

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, [550]His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confess The might, the majesty of loveliness? The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 6.

The light of love,[550:1] the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face,[550:2] The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,— And oh, that eye was in itself a soul! The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 6.

The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle. The Bride of Abydos. Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray! The Bride of Abydos. Canto ii. Stanza 20.

He makes a solitude, and calls it—peace![550:3] The Bride of Abydos. Canto ii. Stanza 20.

Hark! to the hurried question of despair: "Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?"[550:4] The Bride of Abydos. Canto ii. Stanza 27.

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse. The Corsair. Preface.

O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,[550:5] Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limit to their sway,— Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 1.

Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 1.

She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 3.

The power of thought,—the magic of the mind! The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 8.

The many still must labour for the one. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 8.

There was a laughing devil in his sneer. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 9.

Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell! The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 9.

Farewell! For in that word, that fatal word,—howe'er We promise, hope, believe,—there breathes despair. The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 15.

No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe. The Corsair. Canto iii. Stanza 22.

He left a corsair's name to other times, Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes.[551:1] The Corsair. Canto iii. Stanza 24.

Lord of himself,—that heritage of woe! Lara. Canto i. Stanza 2.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that 's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.[551:2] Hebrew Melodies. She walks in Beauty.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold. The Destruction of Sennacherib.

It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word. Parisina. Stanza 1.

Yet in my lineaments they trace Some features of my father's face. Parisina. Stanza 13.

Fare thee well! and if forever, Still forever fare thee well. Fare thee well.

Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred.[552:1] A Sketch.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee. Stanzas to Augusta.

The careful pilot of my proper woe. Epistle to Augusta. Stanza 3.

When all of genius which can perish dies. Monody on the Death of Sheridan. Line 22.

Folly loves the martyrdom of fame. Monody on the Death of Sheridan. Line 68.

Who track the steps of glory to the grave. Monody on the Death of Sheridan. Line 74.

Sighing that Nature form'd but one such man, And broke the die, in moulding Sheridan.[552:2] Monody on the Death of Sheridan. Line 117.

O God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood. Prisoner of Chillon. Stanza 8.

And both were young, and one was beautiful. The Dream. Stanza 2.

And to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him. The Dream. Stanza 2.

She was his life, The ocean to the river of his thoughts,[553:1] Which terminated all. The Dream. Stanza 2.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The Dream. Stanza 3.

And they were canopied by the blue sky, So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful That God alone was to be seen in heaven. The Dream. Stanza 4.

There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away. Stanzas for Music.

I had a dream which was not all a dream. Darkness.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But before I go, Tom Moore, Here 's a double health to thee! To Thomas Moore.

Here 's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky 's above me, Here 's a heart for every fate.[553:2] To Thomas Moore.

Were 't the last drop in the well, As I gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell 'T is to thee that I would drink. To Thomas Moore.

So we 'll go no more a-roving So late into the night. So we 'll go.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. Manfred. Act i. Sc. 1.

But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar. Manfred. Act i. Sc. 2.

Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs. Manfred. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old! The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns. Manfred. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Which makes life itself a lie, Flattering dust with eternity. Sardanapalus. Act i. Sc. 2.

By all that 's good and glorious. Sardanapalus. Act i. Sc. 2.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse,—borne away with every breath! Sardanapalus. Act iv. Sc. 1.

The dust we tread upon was once alive. Sardanapalus. Act iv. Sc. 1.

For most men (till by losing rendered sager) Will back their own opinions by a wager. Beppo. Stanza 27.

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto, Wished him five fathom under the Rialto. Beppo. Stanza 32.

His heart was one of those which most enamour us,— Wax to receive, and marble to retain.[554:1] Beppo. Stanza 34.

Besides, they always smell of bread and butter. Beppo. Stanza 39.

That soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth. Beppo. Stanza 44.

Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies. Beppo. Stanza 45.

O Mirth and Innocence! O milk and water! Ye happy mixtures of more happy days. Beppo. Stanza 80.

And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong. Mazeppa. Stanza 10.

They never fail who die In a great cause. Marino Faliero. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones, Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones. Age of Bronze. Stanza 3.

I loved my country, and I hated him. The Vision of Judgment. lxxxiii.

Sublime tobacco! which from east to west Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest. The Island. Canto ii. Stanza 19.

Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing the caress More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties—give me a cigar! The Island. Canto ii. Stanza 19.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! On my Thirty-sixth Year.

Brave men were living before Agamemnon.[555:1] Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 5.

In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 17.

But, oh ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly,—have they not henpeck'd you all? Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 22.

The languages, especially the dead, The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said To be the most remote from common use. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 40.

Her stature tall,—I hate a dumpy woman. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 61.

Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 83.

And whispering, "I will ne'er consent,"—consented. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 117.

'T is sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'T is sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 123.

Sweet is revenge—especially to women. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 124.

And truant husband should return, and say, "My dear, I was the first who came away." Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 141.

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'T is woman's whole existence. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 194.

In my hot youth, when George the Third was king. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 212.

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice I think I must take up with avarice.[556:1] Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 216.

What is the end of fame? 'T is but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper. Don Juan. Canto i. Stanza 218.

At leaving even the most unpleasant people And places, one keeps looking at the steeple. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 14.

There 's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 34.

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 53.

All who joy would win Must share it, happiness was born a twin. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 172.

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 178.

A long, long kiss,—a kiss of youth and love. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 186.

Alas, the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing. Don Juan. Canto ii. Stanza 199.

In her first passion woman loves her lover: In all the others, all she loves is love.[557:1] Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 3.

He was the mildest manner'd man That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 41.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung. . . . . . Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all except their sun is set. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 86. 1.

The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 86. 3.

Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylæ. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 86. 7.

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? [558]Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave,— Think ye he meant them for a slave? Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 86. 10.

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing save the waves and I May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die.[558:1] Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 86. 16.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 88.

Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns. Don Juan. Canto iii. Stanza 108.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'T is that I may not weep. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 4.

The precious porcelain of human clay.[558:2] Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 11.

"Whom the gods love die young," was said of yore.[558:3] Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 12.

Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 12.

And her face so fair Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.[558:4] Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 29.

These two hated with a hate Found only on the stage. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 93.

"Arcades ambo,"—id est, blackguards both. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 93.

I 've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted: time will doubt of Rome. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 101.

Oh "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue!"[559:1] As some one somewhere sings about the sky. Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 110.

There 's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine. Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 5.

But all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.[559:2] Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 27.

And puts himself upon his good behaviour. Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 47.

That all-softening, overpowering knell, The tocsin of the soul,—the dinner bell. Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 49.

The women pardon'd all except her face. Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 113.

Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious, Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensius. Don Juan. Canto vi. Stanza 7.

A "strange coincidence," to use a phrase By which such things are settled nowadays. Don Juan. Canto vi. Stanza 78.

The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore. Don Juan. Canto viii. Stanza 3.

Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt In the despatch: I knew a man whose loss Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose. Don Juan. Canto viii. Stanza 18.

What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger Is woman! Don Juan. Canto ix. Stanza 64.

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter. Don Juan. Canto x. Stanza 24.

Oh for a forty-parson power! Don Juan. Canto x. Stanza 34.

When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter," And proved it,—'t was no matter what he said.[560:1] Don Juan. Canto xi. Stanza 1.

And after all, what is a lie? 'T is but The truth in masquerade. Don Juan. Canto xi. Stanza 37.

'T is strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article. Don Juan. Canto xi. Stanza 59.

Of all tales 't is the saddest,—and more sad, Because it makes us smile. Don Juan. Canto xiii. stanza 9.

Cervantes smil'd Spain's chivalry away. Don Juan. Canto xiii. Stanza 11.

Society is now one polish'd horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. Don Juan. Canto xiii. Stanza 95.

All human history attests That happiness for man,—the hungry sinner!— Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.[560:2] Don Juan. Canto xiii. Stanza 99.

'T is strange, but true; for truth is always strange,— Stranger than fiction. Don Juan. Canto xiv. Stanza 101.

The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. Don Juan. Canto xv. Stanza 13.

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. Don Juan. Canto xv. Stanza 43.

Friendship is Love without his wings. L'Amitié est l'Amour sans Ailes.

I awoke one morning and found myself famous. Memoranda from his Life, by Moore, Chap. xiv.

The best of prophets of the future is the past. Letter, Jan. 28, 1821.

What say you to such a supper with such a woman?[561:1] Note to a Letter on Bowles's Strictures.

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]

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.

Strike—for your altars and your fires! Strike—for the green graves of your sires! God, and your native land! Marco Bozzaris.

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.

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.

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!

And the cold marble leapt to life a god. The Belvedere Apollo.

Too fair to worship, too divine to love. The Belvedere Apollo.

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.

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.

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.

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 own hearts, and this must be Our chastisement or recompense. Julian and Maddalo. Line 482.

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.[566:2] Julian and Maddalo. Line 544.

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear. Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples. Stanza 4.

Peter was dull; he was at first Dull,—oh so dull, so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed, Still with this dulness was he cursed! Dull,—beyond all conception, dull. Peter Bell the Third. Part vii. xi.

A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty. The Witch of Atlas. Stanza 5.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Music, when soft Voices die.

I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good. Rarely, rarely comest Thou.

Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone Of some world far from ours, Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one. To Jane. The keen Stars were twinkling.

The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow. One Word is too often profaned.

You lie—under a mistake,[567:1] For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think. Translation of Calderon's Magico Prodigioso. Scene i.

How wonderful is Death! Death and his brother Sleep. Queen Mab. i.

Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame A mechanized automaton. Queen Mab. iii.

Heaven's ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world. Queen Mab. iv.

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home;[568:2] A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which sought through the world is ne'er met with elsewhere. An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain, Oh give me my lowly thatched cottage again; The birds singing gayly, that came at my call, Give me them, and that peace of mind dearer than all. Home, Sweet Home. (From the opera of "Clari, the Maid of Milan.")

The cold winds swept the mountain-height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And 'mid the cheerless hours of night A mother wandered with her child: As through the drifting snows she press'd, The babe was sleeping on her breast. The Snow Storm.

The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask. Morning.

Why should we faint and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die? Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh. The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.

'T is sweet, as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse How grows in Paradise our store. Burial of the Dead.

Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die. Evening.

The stately homes of England,— How beautiful they stand, Amid their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The Homes of England.

The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed. Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine. Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod: They have left unstained what there they found,— Freedom to worship God. Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

Through the laburnum's dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe's violets, faintly sweet, Purpled the mossbeds at its feet. The Palm-Tree.

They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee: Their graves are severed far and wide By mount and stream and sea. The Graves of a Household.

Alas for love, if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O Earth! The Graves of a Household.

The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Casabianca.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! The Hour of Death.

Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done. Tyrolese Evening Song.

In the busy haunts of men. Tale of the Secret Tribunal. Part i.

Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! Siege of Valencia. Scene ix.

Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee,— Where is my brother gone? The Child's First Grief.

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung his tassels forth. The Voice of Spring.

I had a hat. It was not all a hat,— Part of the brim was gone: Yet still I wore it on. Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory.

When I am dead, no pageant train Shall waste their sorrows at my bier, Nor worthless pomp of homage vain Stain it with hypocritic tear. Alaric the Visigoth.

You shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast, Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was "the scourge of God." Alaric the Visigoth.

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race? The Ages. xxxiii.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language. Thanatopsis.

Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings. Thanatopsis.

The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun. Thanatopsis.

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. Thanatopsis.

All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Thanatopsis.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves[572:1] To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. Thanatopsis.

The groves were God's first temples. A Forest Hymn.

The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. March.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. Autumn Woods.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear. The Death of the Flowers.

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. The Death of the Flowers.

Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.

The victory of endurance born. The Battle-Field.

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,— The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers. The Battle-Field.

The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take.

When Freedom from her mountain-height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, [574]And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light. Flag of the free heart's hope and home! By angel hands to valour given! Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? The American Flag.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever; Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness. Endymion. Book i.

He ne'er is crown'd With immortality, who fears to follow Where airy voices lead. Endymion. Book ii.

To sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind. Endymion. Book iv.

So many, and so many, and such glee. Endymion. Book iv.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust. Lamia. Part ii.

There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings. Lamia. Part ii.

Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 3.

The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 4.

Asleep in lap of legends old. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 15.

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 16.

A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 18.

As though a rose should shut and be a bud again. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 27.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon. The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 30.

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy." The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 33.

That large utterance of the early gods! Hyperion. Book i.

Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. Hyperion. Book i.

The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled. Hyperion. Book ii.

Dance and Provençal song and sunburnt mirth! Oh for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene! With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stainèd mouth. Ode to a Nightingale.

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Ode to a Nightingale.

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time. Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,— Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Thou, silent form, doth tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Ode on a Grecian Urn.

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity. Stanzas.

Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings? Addressed to Haydon. Sonnet x.

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne, Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise, Silent, upon a peak in Darien. On first looking into Chapman's Homer.

E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. To One who has been long in City pent.

The poetry of earth is never dead. On the Grasshopper and Cricket.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.[577:1]

So his life has flowed From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure Alone are mirrored; which, though shapes of ill May hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them. Ion. Act i. Sc. 1.

'T is a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. Ion. Act i. Sc. 2.