HEALTH.

In thy heart there is a holy spot,

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As 'mid the waste an isle of fount and palm.

HEART.
Heaven's Sovereign spares all beings but himself
That hideous sight-a naked, human heart!
Young's Night Thoughts.

The heart is like the sky a part of heaven,
But changes, night and day, too, like the sky;
Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven,

And darkness and destruction, as on high; But when it hath been scorch'd and pierc'd and riven,

Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye Pours forth, at last, the heart's blood turn'd to tears. Byron.

To me she gave her heart-the all
Which tyranny cannot enthral.

Byron's Giaour.

Father of spirits, hear!

Look on the inmost heart to thee reveal'd, Look on the fountain of the burning tear.

Mrs. Hemans.

The passion-tempest may not break its calin 'Tis thine, all thine.

Mrs. Hemans.

I have ease, and I have health,
And I have spirits light as air;
And more than wisdom, more than wealth-
A merry heart that laughs at care.

H. H. Milman.
The heart hath its mystery, and who may reveal it,
Or who ever read in the depth of their own,
How much we never may speak of, yet feel it,
But even in feeling it, know it unknown?
Miss Landon.
The heart builds up its hopes, though not address d
To meet the sunset glories of the west,
But garner'd in some still, sweet-singing nest.
Miss Landon.

Oh, no! my heart can never be

Again in lightest hopes the same; The love that lingers there for thee Hath more of ashes than of flame.

Miss Landon.

-Seek for a bosom all honest and true,
Where love once awaken'd will never depart;
Turn, turn to that breast like the dove to its nest,
And you'll find there's no home like the home
in the heart.
Eliza Cook.
-We, in the dark chamber of the heart,
Sitting alone, see the world tabled to us;

And the world wonders how recluses know
So much, and most of all, how we know them.

It is they who paint themselves upon our hearts
In their own lights and darknesses, not we.

This prospect vast, what is it?-weigh'd aright, 'Tis nature's system of divinity,

And every student of the night inspires. 'Tis elder scripture, writ by God's own hand: Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.

Young's Night Thoughts.
One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine;
And light us deep into the deity;
How boundless in magnificence and might!
O what a confluence of ethereal fires,

From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven,
Streams to a point, and centres in my sight!
Nor tarries there; I feel it at my heart:
My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts;
Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.

And stars are kindling in the firmament,
To us how silent-though like ours, perchance,
Busy and full of life and circumstance.

Rogers's Human Life.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven;
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires-'t is to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have nam'd them.
selves a star. Byron's Childe Harold.
Heaven darkly works;—yet, where the seed hath

been,

There shall the fruitage, glowing, yet be seen. Mrs. Hemans. The blue, deep, glorious heavens !-I lift mine eye, And bless thee, O my God! that I have met And own'd thine image in the majesty

Of their calm temple still! that never yet There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight By noontide blaze, or sweeping storm of night! I bless thee, O my God! Mrs. Hemans. Heaven asks no surplice round the heart that feels, And all is holy where devotion kneels.

O. W. Holmes.

Oh, thou beautiful

And unimaginable ether! and

Ye multiplying masses of increas'd

And still increasing lights! what are ye? what
Is this blue wilderness of interminable air,
Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen
The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden?
Is your course measur'd for ye? or do ye
Sweep on in your unbounded revelry
Through an aerial universe of endless
Expansion, at which my soul aches to think,
Intoxicated with eternity?

Oh God! oh Gods! or whatsoe'er ye are !
How beautiful ye are! how beautiful
Your works, or accident, or whatsoe'er
They may be! let me die, as atoms die,
(If that they die) or know ye in your might
And knowledge! My thoughts are not in this hour
Unworthy what I see, though my dust is;
Spirit! let me expire, or see them nearer!

Byron's Cain.

Oh! why do heavenly visions from the mind
Pass, like the rainbow mists that wreathe around,
And tinge with beauty the unsightly rock?

Mrs. Hale's Poems.
Heaven would be hell if lov'd ones were not there,
And any spot a heaven, if we could save
From every stain of earth, and thither bear
The hearts that are to us our hope and care,
The soil whereon our purest pleasures grow
Around the quiet hearth we often share,
From the quick change of thought, the tender flow
Of fondness wak'd by smiles, the world we love

below.

HELL.

Percival.

There is a place in a black and hollow vault,
Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,
But flaming horror of consuming fires;
A lightless sulphur, choak'd with smoky fogs
Of an infected darkness; in this place
Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts
Of never-dying deaths; there damned souls
Roar without pity; there are gluttons fed
With toads and adders; there is burning oil
Pour'd down the drunkard's throat; the usurer
Is forc'd to sup whole draughts of molten gold;
There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,
Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton
On racks of burning steel, while in his soul
He feels the torment of his raging lust.
There stand those wretched things,

Who have dream'd out whole years in lawless

sheets,

And secret incests, cursing one another.

John Ford.

Hell at last Yawning receiv'd them whole, and on them clos'd; Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.

Milton's Paradise Lost.

Fast we found, fast shut,

The dismal gates, barricadoed strong;
But, long ere our approaching, heard within
Noise, other than the sound of dance or song;
Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou profoundest hell,
Receive thy new possessor; one who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

Here we may reign secure; and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Lucifer. Behold my world! Man's science
counts it not

To overcome in battle, and subdue

Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human glory, and for glory done
Of triumph, to be styl'd great conquerors,
Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods,
Destroyers rightlier call'd and plagues of men.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin, wheresoe'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy,
Then swell with pride, and must be titled gods,
Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers,
Worshipp'd with temple, priest and sacrifice;
One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other;
Till conq'ror death discover them scarce men,
Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or shameful death their due reward.
Milton's Paradise Regained

For great commanders only own
What's prosperous by the soldier done.

Butler's Hudibras.

For he was of that noble trade
That demi-gods and heroes made.
Slaughter and knocking on the head,
The trade to which they all were bred;
And is, like others, glorious when
'Tis great and large, but base if mean.
The former rides in triumph for it,
The latter in a two-wheel'd chariot,
For daring to profane a thing
So sacred with vile bungling.

Butler's Hudibras.

To rust on medals, or on stones decay.

Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.
At every step

Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft,
Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the soil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth, and plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischief he has done.

Cowper's Task.
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews,
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour's field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in the cause.

But let eternal infamy pursue

Cowper.

The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.

Cowper.
Each with a gigantic stride,
Trampling on all the flourishing works of peace
To make his greatness greater, and inscribe
His name in blood.

Rogers's Italy.

And though in peaceful garb arrayed,

And weaponless except his blade,

His stately mien as well implied

A high-born heart and martial pride,

As if a baron's crest he wore,

And sheathed in armour trod the shore.

Howe,

Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now.
Byron.

"Tis thus the spirit of a single mind
Makes that of multitudes take one direction,
As roll the waters to the breathing wind,
Or roams the herd beneath the bull's protection,
Or as a little dog will lead the blind,
Or a bell-wether from the flock's connection,
By tinkling sounds, when they go forth to victual,
Such is the sway of your great men o'er little.

On his bold visage middle age

Had slightly pressed his signet sage,
Yet had not quenched the open truth,
And fiery vehemence of youth;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
Of hasty love, or headlong ire.

Scott's Lady of the Lake.

In Conrad's form seems little to admire,
Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire;
Robust but not Herculean-
to the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,
Saw more than makes the crowd of vulgar men,
They gaze and marvel how-and still confess
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Byron's Corean