20. Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.

21. We tell thy doom without a sigh,

SANDS.

H. W. LONGfellow.

For thou art freedom's now, and fame's—

One of the few, th' immortal names

That were not born to die!

FITZ-GREEN HALLECK.

FANCY-IMAGINATION.

1. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December's snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?—
Oh no-the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling of the worse.

2. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

3. This busy power is working day and night;
For when the outward senses rest do take,
A thousand dreams, fantastical and light,
With fluttering wings do keep her still awake.

DAVIES' Immortality of the Soul.

4. Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new;
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toil'd after him in vain.

DR. JOHNSON, on Shakspeare.

5. Do what he will, he cannot realize
Half he conceives-the glorious vision flies;
Go where he may, he cannot hope to find
The truth, the beauty pictur'd in his mind.

6. Pleasant at noon, beside the vocal brook,
To lie one down and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to fancy's wild imaginings,
Their ever-varying forms.

7. Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason's hand the reins.

ROGERS.

SOUTHEY.

SCOTT'S Rokeby.

8. Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose,
And soar'd untrodden heights, and seem'd at home
Where angels bashful look'd.

POLLOK'S Course of Time.

9. The beings of the mind are not of clay,

Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray,

And more belov'd existence.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

10. Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars

Till he had peopled them with beings bright
As their own beams.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

14. One of those passing rainbow dreams
Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams
Paint on the fleeting mists that roll,

In trance or slumber, round the soul.

MOORE'S Lalla Rookh.

15. Above, below, in ocean and in sky, Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie.

16. 'Mid earthly scenes forgotten or unknown, Lives in ideal worlds, and wanders there alone.

CAMPBELL.

CARLOS WILCOX.

17. I give you a legend from Fancy's own sketch, Tho', I warn you, he's given to fibbing-the wretch! S. G. GOODRICH.

FAREWELL.-(See ADIEU.)

FARMER. (See BLACKSMITH.)

FASHION. (See APPAREL.)

1. Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.

2.

The poor wren,

The most diminutive of birds, will fight,

SHAKSPEARE.

The young ones in her nest, against the owl.

SHAKSPEARE.

3. Fathers their children and themselves abuse,

That wealth, a husband, for their daughters choose.

4. But parents, to their offspring blind,
Consult not parts, nor turn of mind;
But, even in infancy, decree
What this, what th' other son shall be.

5. For if there be a human tear

From passion's dross refin'd and clear,
"Tis that which pious parents shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head.

SHIRLEY.

GAY's Fables.

6. To aid thy mind's development—to watch
The dawn of little joys-to sit and see
Almost thy very growth-to view thee catch
Knowledge of objects-wonders yet to see!
To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee,

And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-
This, it should seem, was not reserv'd for me;
Yet such was in my nature.

SCOTT.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

266

FATHER-MOTHER, &c.

7. My mother! at that holy name

Within my bosom there's a gush
Of feeling, which no time can tame,
A feeling, which, for years of fame,
I would not, could not crush!

8. My heart grew softer as I gazed upon

GEORGE P. MORRIS.

That youthful mother, as she sooth'd to rest,
With a low song, her lov'd and cherish'd one,
The bud of promise on her gentle breast;
For 't is a sight that angel ones above

May stoop to gaze on from their bowers of bliss,
When Innocence upon the breast of Love

Is cradled, in a sinful world like this.

MRS. A. B. WELBY.

9. Ere yet her child hath drawn its earliest breath,
A mother's love begins-it grows till death!
Lives before life, with death not dies, but seems
The very substance of immortal dreams.

Is tender, though the man be made of stone.

11. Of sighs that speak a father's woe,
that none but mothers know.

Of pangs

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

12. Sweet is the image of the brooding dove!-
Holy as heaven a mother's tender love!
The love of many prayers, and many tears,
Which changes not with dim declining years,-
The only love, which, on this teeming earth,
Asks no return for passion's wayward birth.

MRS. NORTON's Dream.