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It is not in the power
Of Painting or of Sculpture to express
Aught so divine as the fair form of Truth!
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul.

CUMBERLAND's Philemon.

Beyond all contradiction,

The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

16. My smiles must be sincere, or not at all.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

17. "Tis strange, but true; for truth is always strange,
Stranger than fiction. If it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
BYRON'S Don Juan.

18. I know the action was extremely wrong; I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it; But I detest all fiction, even in song,


And so must tell the truth, howe'er you blame it.
BYRON'S Don Juan.

19. I mean to show things as they really are,
Not as they ought to be; for I avow
That till we see what's what in fact, we 're far
From much improvement.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

20. First, I would have thee cherish truth,
As leading-star in virtue's train;
Folly may pass, nor tarnish youth,
But falsehood leaves a poison-stain.


21. Truth, crush'd to earth, shall rise again,-
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.





1. Death makes no conquest of this conqueror, For now he lives in fame though not in life.

2. Talk not to me of fond renown, the rude,
Inconstant blast of the base multitude:
Their breaths nor souls can satisfaction make,
For half the joys I part with for their sake.


3. I courted fame but as a spur to brave

And honest deeds; and who despises fame,
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.

4. Knows he that mankind praise against their will,
And mix as much detraction as they can?
Knows he that faithless fame her whisper has,
As well as trumpet? That his vanity

Is so much tickled from not hearing all?



YOUNG'S, Night Thoughts.

7. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, To scorn delights, and live laborious days.

5. They, spider-like, spin out their precious all,
Their more than vitals spin in curious webs
Of subtle thought and exquisite design-
Fine networks of the brain-to catch a fly!
The momentary buzz of vain renown!

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts. 6. With fame, in just proportion, envy grows; The man that makes a character, makes foes.



8. The whole amount of that enormous fame, A tale that blends their glory with their shame. POPE'S Essay on Man.


9. What's fame? a fancied life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, even before our death.

POPE'S Essay on Man.

10. Whose honours with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they go. POPE'S Essay on Criticism. 11. A youth to fame, ere yet to manhood, known.

12. Absurd! to think to overreach the grave,

And from the wreck of names to rescue ours:
The best concerted schemes men lay for fame,
Die fast away; only themselves die faster.

13. He left a name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.


BLAIR'S Grave.

14. And glory long has made the sages smile;
"Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind—
Depending more upon the historian's style



Than on the name a person leaves behind.
BYRON'S Don Juan.

16. And blaze with guilty glare thro' future time, Eternal beacons of consummate crime.

17. Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by a patriot's name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen
On liberty's ruins to fame.

15. What is the end of fame? "Tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,

Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour.
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
And bards burn what they call "the midnight taper."
BYRON'S Don Juan

BYRON'S English Bards, &c.




18. What is fame, and what is glory? A dream, a jester's lying story,

To tickle fools withal, or be

A theme for second infancy.

A word of praise, perchance of blame,
The wreck of a time-bandied name-
And this is glory-this is fame!


-To win the wreath of fame,
And write on memory's scroll a deathless name.

20. Lives of great men all remind us

We can mak our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.

21. We tell thy doom without a sigh,


For thou art freedom's now, and fame’s—
One of the few, th' immortal names
That were not born to die!

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



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.






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.




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.

10. Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars Till he had peopled them with beings bright As their own beams.

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.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

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