Stand free and fast, And judge him by no more than what Ingenuously, and by the right laid line Of truth, he truly will all styles deserve, Of wise, good, just; a man both soul and nerve. Shirley's Admiral of France. She can't be parallel'd by art, much less By nature she'd battle painters to decypher Her exactly, as bad as agues puzzle doctors. Robert Neville's Poor Scholar. As through the hedgerows'shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals, Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own. Rogers. Though gay as mirth, as curious thoughts sedate; As elegance polite, as power elate; Profound as reason, and as justice clear; Soft as compassion, yet as truth severe.
With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good out-stripped the truth,
And troubled manhood followed baffled youth.
Byron.
The cye of the hale one,
With joy in its gleam, Looks up in the noontide,
And steals from the beam; But the check of the pale one Is marked with despair,
To feel itself fading,
When all is so fair.
Bespeak the man who acted out the whole-
The whole of all he knew of high and true.
Hoffman
Though looks and words,
By the strong mastery of his practised will,
Are overruled, the mounting blood betrays
An impulse in its secret spring, too deep
For his control.
And though, as you have said, the vernal bloom
Of his first spirits fading, leaves him changed-
"Tis not to worse. His mind is as a meadow
Of various grasses, rich and fresh beneath,
But o'er the surface some that come to seed
Have cast a colour of sobriety.
His talk is like a stream which runs
With rapid change from rocks to roses;
He slips from politics to puns,
Passes from Mahomet to Moses;
Beginning with the laws that keep
The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
A gentle maiden, whose large, loving eyes
Enshrine a tender, melancholy light,
Like the soft radiance of the starry skies,
Or autumn sunshine, mellow'd when most bright;
She is not sad, yet in her gaze appears
Something that makes the gazer think of tears.
Mrs. Embury.
She has a glowing heart, they say,
Though calm her seeming be;
And oft that warm heart's lovely play
Upon her cheek I see.
Though time her bloom is stealing,
There's still beyond his artThe wild flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart.
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel;
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
Mrs. Osgood. And show the heavens more just.
Bold in the cause of God he stood
Like Templar in the Holy Land;
And never knight of princely blood
In lady's bower more bland.
The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done,
Halleck. Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the pris'ner,
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
Shall cry to heav'n, and pull a blessing on thee.
Rowe's Jane Shore.
Mrs. Hale. How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity!
Like thee, reserve their raiment for the naked,
Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan,
Or mix the pitying tears with those that weep!
Rowe's Jane Shore
Great minds, like heaven, are pleas'd in doing
good,
His high broad forehead, marble fair,
Told of the power of thought within;
And strength was in his raven hair-
But when he smiled a spell was there
That more than strength or power could win.
Mrs. Hale's Vigil of Love.
Good is no good, but if it be spend;
God giveth good for none other end.
Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours
Are barren in return.
The secret pleasure of a generous act
Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar. Is the great mind's great bribe.
Finds in the act reward, and needs no trumpet
In the receiver.
Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Sea Voyage. Despairing quacks with curses left the place,
It was sufficient that his wants were known,
True charity makes others' wants their own.
Robert Dauborne's Poor Man's Comfort.
For true charity
Though ne'er so secret finds a just reward.
May's Old Couple.
For his bounty,
There was no winter in 't; an autumn 't was
That grew the more by reaping.
Shaks. Ant. and Cleo.
Nothing truly can be term'd mine own
But what I make mine own by using well.
Those deeds of charity which we have done
Shall stay for ever with us: and that wealth
Which we have so bestow'd, we only keep;
The other is not ours.
And vile attorneys, now an useless race.
Pope's Moral Essays.
In faith and hope the world will disagree,
But all mankind's concern is charity:
All must be false that thwart this one great end;
And all of God, that bless mankind, or mend.
Pope's Essay on Man
Self-love thus push'd to social,-to divine,
Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine.
Is this too little for the boundless heart?
Extend it-let thy enemies have part,
Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life and sense,
In one close system of benevolence:
Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree
And height of bliss but height of charity.
Pope's Essay on Mar
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The generous pride of virtue,
Disdains to weigh too nicely the returns
Her bounty meets with-like the liberal gods,
From her own gracious nature she bestows,
Nor stops to ask reward.
Thomson's Coriolanus.
But to the generous still-improving mind,
That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy,
Diffusing kind beneficence around,
Boastless, as now descends the silent dew;
To him the long review of order'd life,
Is inward rapture, only to be felt.
Thomson's Seasons. The truly generous is the truly wise; And he who loves not others, lives unblest.
Home's Douglas. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but reliev'd their pain: The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
There are, while human miseries abound,
A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth,
Without one fool or flatterer at our board,
Without one hour of sickness or disgust.
Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health.
Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild,
Her wisdom scems the weakness of a child:
She makes excuses where she might condemn,
Revil'd by those that hate her, prays for then;
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,
The worst suggested, she believes the best;
Not soon provok'd, however stung and teas'd,
And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeas'd;
She rather waves than will dispute her right,
And injur'd makes forgiveness her delight.
Cowper's Charity.
True charity, a plant divinely nurs'd,
Fed by the love, from which it rose at first,
'Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene,
Storms but enliven its unfading green;
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies,
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies.
Cowper's Charity.
and charity prevail, the press would prove
A venicle of virtue, truth, and love.
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Why not believe the homely letter That all you give will God restore ? The poor man may deserve it better, Couper's Charity. And surely, surely wants it more;
Let but the rich man do his part,
And whatsoe'er the issue be,
To those who ask, his answering heart
Will gain and grow in sympathy.
Then gertly scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman,
Thou, my love, art sweeter far than balmy
Incense in the purple smoke; pure and
Unspotted as the cleanly ermine, ere
The hunter sullies her with his pursuit ;
R. M. Milnes. Soft as her skin; chaste as th' Arabian bird'
That wants a sex to woo, or as the dead,
That are divorc'd from warmth, from objects,
And from thought.
Though both may gang a kennie wrang,
Cast not the clouded gem away,
Quench not the dim but living ray-
My brother man, beware!
With that deep voice, which from the skies,
Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice,
God's angel cries, Forbear!
Still to a stricken brother true,
Whatever clime hath nurtur'd him ;
He stoop'd to heal the wounded Jew,
The worshipper of Gerizim.
But by all thy nature's weakness,
Hidden faults and follies known,
Be thou, in rebuking evil,
And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man's belief is bad,
It will not be improv'd by burning.
As the rivers, farthest flowing,
In the highest hills have birth;
As the banyan, broadest growing,
Oftenest bows its head to earth,-
So the noblest minds press onward,
Channels far of good to trace;
So the largest hearts bend downward,
Circling all the human race.
Sir W. Davenant's Platonic Lovers.
So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liv'ry'd angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.
Milton's Comus.
Oh! she is colder than the mountain's snow.
To such a subtile purity she's wrought,
Whittier. She's pray'd and fasted to a walking thought:
She's an enchanted feast, most fair to sight,
And starves the appetite she docs invite;
Flies from the touch of sense, and if you dare
To name but love she vanishes to air.
Crown's Destruction of Jerusalem.
In thy fair brow there's such a legend writ
Of chastity, as blinds the adulterous eye:
Not the mountain ice,
Congeal'd to crystals, is so frosty chaste,
As thy victorious soul, which conquers man,
And man's proud tyrant-passion.
Dryden's Albion and Albanus.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
And hide her shame from every eye,
And give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom is—to die.
Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow,
Though she hath ofttimes drain'd its bitter cup;
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow,
And eyes whose lovely orbs are lifted up!
And her against sweet cheerfulness was placed,
Whose eyes like twinkling stars in evening cleus
Were deck't with smyles, that all sad humour
chased,
And darted forth delights, the which her goodly
graced.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Cheerful looks make every dish a feast,
And 't is that crowns a welcome.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; Mewling and puking in the nurse's arins.
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish?
Shaks. Merchant of Venice.
What then remains but well our power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate'er we lose?
And trust me, dear, good humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding
fail;
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play,
Belinda smil'd and all the world was gay.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.
When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest huc,
Her bow across her shoulders flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung.
Collins's Passions.
Thus without share in coin or land,
But well content to hold
The wealth of nature in my hand,
One flail of virgin gold,—
My love above me like a sun,-
My own bright thoughts my wings,-
Through life I trust to flutter on
As gay as aught that sings.
R. M. Milnes.
Were it not worse than vain to close our eyes
Unto the azure sky and golden light,
Because the tempest cloud doth sometimes rise,
And glorious day must darken into night?
Douglas Jerold's Magazine.
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Although the print be little, the whole matter
The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,
valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his
smiles;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
Shaks. Winter Tale.
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the scat of majesty,
And make no doubt us happy by his reign
Shaks. Richard III
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them
Shaks. Richard III
O'tis a parlous boy;
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable;
He's all the mother's from the top to toe.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his,
This little abstract doth contain that large,
Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time,
Shall draw this brief unto as large a volume.
Shaks. King Johu.
Father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For since the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
Shaks. King John.
O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son;
My life, my joy, my soul, my all the world;
My widow's comfort, and my sorrow's care.
Shaks. King John
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
The young ones in her nest against the owl.
Shaks. Macbeth
Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricots,
Which, like unruly children make their siro
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight
Shaks. Richard. Il
Children blessings seem, but torments are,
When young our folly, and when old our fear
Olway's Don Carlos.
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