174

24.

DAY-MORNING-NIGHT, &c.

The night

Shows stars and women in a better light.

25. Blest power of sunshine! genial day!
What balm, what life is in thy ray!
To feel thee is such real bliss,
That, had the world no joy but this,
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet-
It were a world too exquisite
For man to leave it for the gloom,
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb!

BYRON'S Don Juan.

MOORE'S Lalla Rookh.

26. It was an evening bright and still

As ever blush'd on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.

MOORE's Loves of the Angels.

27. Soft as a bride, the rosy dawn
From dewy sleep doth rise,
And, bath'd in blushes, hath withdrawn
The mantle from her eyes;
And, with her orbs dissolv'd in dew,
Bends like an angel softly through
The blue-pavilion❜d skies.

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

28. O Twilight! spirit that dost render birth

To dim enchantments-melting heaven to earth-
Leaving on craggy hills and running streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.

MRS. NORTON's Dream

29. How calmly sinks the setting sun!
Yet twilight lingers still;
And, beautiful as dream of heaven,

It slumbers on the hill.

G. D. PRENTICE.

DEATH-GRAVE.

30. 'Tis midnight's holy hour-and silence now
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er
The still and pulseless world.

31. Ere the evening lamps, are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fireside

Dance upon the parlour wall.

G. D. PRENTICE.

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 32. Night's starry host gather'd in brightness high, And not a cloud darken'd the shining sky; The moon rode by, and all her glittering band Bath'd in a flood of light the smiling land.

MRS. C. H. W. ESLING. 33. The sun now rests upon the mountain tops.

CARLOS WILCOX.

34. The hour of melancholy, mirth, and love.

MRS. BROOKS.

35. The busy world was still, the solemn moon
Smil'd forth her silvery beauty; and the stars,
Like living diamonds in a sea of glass,
Danc'd in the sapphire canopy of heaven.

DEATH-GRAVE.

175

36. The king of day had dipp'd his weary head
Within old father Ocean's billowy bed,
And "twilight grey" had spread its dusky veil
O'er all terrestrial objects, hill and dale.

1.

Death is a fearful thing:
The wearied and most loathed earthly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a Paradise

To what we fear of death!

P. B. ELDER.

J. T. WATSON.

SHAKSPEARE.

176

2. Is it not better to die willingly,
Than linger till the glass be all outrun?

DEATH-GRAVE.

3. Imperious Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole, to keep the wind away :
O! that the earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall, to expel the Winter's flaw !

4. Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

6.

8.

5. Can storied urn, or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?
GRAY'S Elegy.

Death, grim death
Will fold me in his leaden arms, and press
Me close to his cold, clayey breast.

7. The sceptred king, the burthen'd slave,
The humble and the haughty, die;
The rich, the poor, the base, the brave,
In dust, without distinction, lie.

SPENSER.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

CONGREVE.

Death is the crown of life:
Were death denied, poor man would live in vain.
Death wounds to cure; we fall, we rise, we reign;
Spring from our fetters, fasten to the skies,
Where blooming Eden withers from our sight.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

9. The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave, The deep, damp vault, the darkness, and the worm! YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

DEATH-GRAVE.

10. A death-bed 's a detector of the heart:
Here tired dissimulation drops her mask,
Through life's grimace that mistress of the scene;
Here real and apparent are the same.

11. O death, all eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when 't is man we love.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

12. Death, when unmask'd, shows us a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance.

13. The prince, who kept the world in awe,
The judge, whose dictate fix'd the law,
The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
Are levell'd: death confounds them all.

15.

POPE'S Eloisa.

177

GOLDSMITH.

14. There shall the yew her sable branches spread,
And mournful cypress rear her fringed head;
From thence shall thyme and myrtle send perfume,
And laurel evergreen o'ershade the tomb.

GAY'S Fables.

GAY'S Dione.

Leaves have their times 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!

MRS. HEMANS.

16. Let him who crawls, enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away,
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head ;—
Ours the fresh turf, and not the fev'rish bed;
While, gasp by gasp, he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang-one bound-escapes control.
BYRON'S Corsair.

17. How peaceful and how powerful is the grave!

BYRON.

178

18. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,-
That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest, when Autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown!

19. And dull the film along his dim eye grew.

DEATH-GRAVE.

22. At times, both wish'd for and implor'd, At times sought with self-pointed sword, And welcome in no shape.

BYRON'S Lara.

20. Yes, this was once ambition's airy hall; The dome of thought-the palace of the soul. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 21. Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet. BYRON'S Don Juan.

BYRON.

BYRON'S Mazeppa.

23. What shall he be ere night?-Perchance a thing O'er which the raven flaps his funeral wing!

BYRON'S Corsair.

24. Oh God! it is a fearful thing

To see the human soul take wing!
BYRON'S Prisoner of Chillon.

25. How sweetly could I lay my head
Within the cold grave's silent breast,
Where sorrow's tears no more are shed,
No more the ills of life molest!

26. O, grief beyond all other griefs, when fate
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate,
In the wide world, without that only tie,
For which it wish'd to live, or fear'd to die!

27. Like one who draws the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

MOORE

MOORE'S Lalla Rookh.

W. C. BRYANT.