'en the whole world, blockheads and men of Unsleeping watchfulness, lone sccresy, letters, njoy a cannonade upon their betters. Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar. Come hath he none who once becomes a king! ehind the pillar'd masses of his halls he dagger'd traitor lurks; his vaulted roofs to nightly echo to the whisper'd vows of those who curse him. Joanna Baillie's Ethwald. A crown! what is it? s it to bear the miseries of a people! 'o hear their murmurs, feel their discontents, And sink beneath a load of splendid care! 'o have your best success ascribed to fortune, And fortune's failures all ascribed to you! t is to sit upon a joyless height, Attend his throne by day, his couch by night. To ev'ry blast of changing fate expos'd! t being now settled that emp'rors and kings, Moore's Crib's Memorial to Congress. This was a truth to us extremely trite, Byron. Meanwhile the education they went through Lord John Russell's Don Carlos. KISS. O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Byron. Shut up—no, not the king, but the pavilion, Or else 'twill cost us all another million. breat Tary Jase bo Shaks. Coriolanus, Shaks. Richard III Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If I profane with my unworthy hand Byron. Let kings remember they are set on thrones As representatives, not substitutes Of nations, to implead with God and man. Bailey's Festus. Oh, covet not the throne and crown, And shun the palace gate. Ye lowly born, oh, covet not Unrest the sceptre brings; The nonest name and peaceful lot Eliza Cook. pant infan iw my sense e like rose-buds, blown with inen's But went away so cold, the kiss he gave me hs, oth sap and savour. Beaumont and Fletcher's Mad Lover. of her lip? I do not give it Massinger's Emperor of the East. Never man before nor like this kiss hath been another, autics like, met at such closes, isses of two damask roses. Brown's Pastorals. she sleeps, gods do descend, and kiss; El others breath, but borrow this. Cartwright's Siege. aster, though unknown before, alf kisses kill me quite : n thus served? cean of delight, to be starved. Drayton. mis kisses on my balmy lips, reezes breath'd amidst the groves spices on the height of day. Behn's Abdelazar. could I give the world; Ehine, but thus to touch thy lips, ner by the vast exchange. infancy of opening flowers senses in that melting kiss. Southern's Disappointment. take is paid by that you give; utual, and I'm still in debt. Seem'd the forc'd compliment of sated love. When men of infamy to grandeur soar, Lord Lansdown's Heroic Love. And a rich knave's a libel on our laws. ile a pleasing kind of smart, at tingling to my very heart. gone, the sense of it did stay, ss cling'd upon my lips all day, honey loth to fall away. Dryden. her cheek up close, and lean'd on his; whisper'd kisses back on hers. Dryden's All for Love. ive for ever on those lips! Dryden's Amphitryon. KNIGHTHOOD. Young. A true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word, Shaks. Troilus and Cressida. A lac'd hat, worsted stockings, and — noble old soul! A fine ribbon and cross in his breast button-hole; Just such as our prince, who nor reason nor fun dreads, Inflicts, without e'en a court-martial, on hundreds. Moore's Fudge Family. My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel: They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, A king can make a belted knight, These are not the romantic times So beautiful in Spenser's rhymes, Burns's Poems. So dazzling to the dreaming boy, Ours are the days of fact, not fable, Of knights, but not of the round table, Of Bailie Jarvie, not Rob Roy. Remember that the curs'd desire to know, Voracious learning, often over-fed, Young's Night Thoughts. Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords Young's Night Thoughts. The clouds may drop down titles and estates; Pope's Essay on Criticism. Man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth More welcome touch his understanding's eye, Than all the blandishments of sound his ear, Than all of taste his tongue. Akenside. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies, Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. Gray's Eton College. Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Cowper's Task. Deep subtle wits, In truth are master spirits in the world. The brave man's courage, and the student's lore, Are but as tools his secret ends to work, Who hath the skill to use them. Joanna Bailie's Basil. Knowledge is not happiness, and science Cheer'd with the view, man went to till the ground | What living man will bring a gift From whence he rose; sentenc'd indeed to toil, As to a punishment, yet (c'en in wrath So merciful is heaven) this toil became The solace of his woes, the sweet employ Of many a livelong hour, and surest guard Porteus's Death. Oft did the harvest to the sickle yield, Gay. Here sun-brown'd Labour swings his Cyclop arms, How blest the farmer's simple life! Of his own heart, and help to lift The tune?"The race is to the swift!" What are we sent on earth for? Say, to toil! Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. Longfellow's Poems High curl'd the smoke from the humble roof with dawning's earliest bird, And the tinkle of the anvil, first of the village sounds was heard; The bellows-puff, the hammer-beat, the whistle and the song, Told, steadfastly and merrily, toil roll'd the hours -Give me the fair one, in country or city, Speaks to thy soul out of nature's great heart. How his strong arm in its stalwart pride sweeping, True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides. Mrs. Osgood's Poems. Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own; We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, And care not a fig for the king on his throne; We never know want, for we live by our labour, And in it contentment and happiness find. George P. Morris. |