My desolation does begin to make A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Cæsar; Not being fortune, he 's but fortune's knave, A minister of her will; and it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Our pride contemns; so we have less t'annihilate Our own, when it is fall'n in our dislike.
Sir W. Davenant's Distresses
Self-murder, that infernal crime, Which all the gods level their thunder at! Fane's Sacrifice
Let us seek death, or, he not found, supply With our own hand his office on ourselves: Why stand we shivering longer under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power Of many ways to die, the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
He who, superior to the checks of nature, Dares make his life the victim of his reason, Does in some sort that reason deify, And take a flight at heav'n.
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change. Fear, guilt, despair, and moon-struck frenzy,
Shaks. Antony and Cleopatra. He is dead;
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
Not by the public minister of justice,
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
On voluntary death: the wise, the brave,
When the fierce storms of fortune round 'em roar Combat the billows with redoubled force:
Then, if they perish ere the port is gain'd,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, They sink with decent pride; and from the deep Honour retrieves them bright as rising stars. Splitted the heart.
Shaks. Antony and Cleopatra. Death is not free for any man's election, 'Till nature, or the law impose it on him. Chapman's Cæsar and Pompey.
That kills himself, t' avoid mis'ry, fears it; And at the best shows but a bastard valour : This life's a fort committed to my trust, Which I must not yield up, till it be forc'd; Nor will I he's not valiant that dares die; But he that boldly bears calamity.
Massinger's Maid of Honour. 'Tis not courage, when the darts of chance Are thrown against our state, to turn our backs, And basely run to death; as if the hand Of heaven and nature had lent nothing else T'oppose against mishap, but loss of life: Which is to fly, and not to conquer it.
Jonson's Adrasta. When affliction thunders o'er our roofs; To hide our heads, and run into our graves, Shows us no men, but makes us fortune's slaves. Jonson's Adrasta.
Fenton's Mariamne. Our time is set and fix'd; our days are told; And no man knows the limit of his life; This minute may be mine, the next another's; But still all mortals ought to wait the summons, And not usurp on the decrees of fate, By hastening their own ends.
Smith's Princess of Parma.
Venture not rashly on an unknown being- E'en the most perfect shun the brink of death, And shudder at the prospect of futurity.
Savage's Sir Thomas Overbury What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she!—but why that bleeding bosom gor'd? Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh! ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it in heav'n a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's, or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky For those who greatly think, or bravely die i Pope
Our time is fix'd; and all our days are number'd; How long, how short, we know not: this we know, Duty requires we calmly wait the summons, Nor dare to stir till heaven shall give permission. Like sentries that must keep their destin'd stand, And wait th' appointed hour, till they're reliev'd. Those only are the brave who keep their ground, And keep it to the last. To run away Is but a coward's trick: to run away From this world's ills, that at the very worst Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves By boldly venturing on a world unknown, And plunging headlong in the dark! 't is mad: No frenzy half so desperate as this.
Then came the jolly summer, being dight In a thin silken cassock colour'd green, That was unlined all, to be more light, And on his head a garland well beseene He wore, from which, as he had chaffed been, The sweat did drop, and in his hand he bore A bow and shafts, as he in forest green Had hunted late the libbard or the boar, And now would bathe his limbs, with labour heated sore. Spenser's Fairy Queen. Now comes thy glory in the summer months, With light and heat refulgent.
Byron's Giaour. Unto me, glad summer,
Fool! I mean not That poor-soul'd piece of heroism, self-slaughter: Oh no! the miserablest day we live There's many a better thing to do than die!
He sougat his God in the self-slayer's way. Bailey's Festus.
I dread to see the summer sun Come glowing up the sky, And early pansies, one by one, Opening the violet eye:
They speak of one who sleeps in death,
Nor longer in the lingering light Of summer eve, shall we, Lock'd hand in hand, together sit Beneath the greenwood tree. The Spring's gay promise melted into thee, Fair Summer! and thy gentle reign is here; Thy emerald robes are on each leafy tree;
In the blue sky thy voice is rich and clear;
All the world's bravery that delights our eyes, Is but thy several liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go'st. Cowley. Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea, Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide, And with thy living stream through the close channel slide. Cowley.
Blest power of sunshine! genial day,
And the free brooks have songs to bless thy reign-What balm, what life are in thy ray! They leap in music 'midst thy bright domain. Willis G. Clark.
Thus gazing on thy void and sapphire sky, O, Summer! in my inmost soul arise Uplifted thoughts, to which the woods reply, And the bland air with its soft melodies; Till basking in some vision's glorious ray, I long for eagles' plumes to flee away!
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.
And see- the sun himself! on wings Willis G. Clark. Of glory up the cast he springs.
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, bloody here; But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves! Shaks. Richard II.
I marvel not, O sun! that unto thee, In adoration, man should bow the knee, And pour the prayer of mingled awe and love; For like a God thou art, and on thy way Of glory sheddest, with benignant ray, Beauty and life, and joyance from above.
Angel of light! who from the time Those heavens began their march sublime, Hath first of all the starry choir Trod in his Maker's steps of fire!
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere The mystery of thy making was reveal'd! Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladden'd, on their mountain-tops, the hearts
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Themselves in orisons! Thou material God! And representative of the unknown- Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief star!
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth Endurable, and temperest the hues
And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes, And those who dwell in them! for near or far, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects; · thou dost rise, And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well' I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance Of love and wonder was for thee, tnen take My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been Of a more fatal nature. He is gone: I follow.
SUPERIORITY-SUPERSTITION.
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow Thy listless eyes so much admire, Did lend thee something of his fire! Byron's Bride of Abydos. But yonder comes the powerful king of day, Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow, Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air, He looks in boundless majesty abroad; And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wand'ring streams,
High gleaming from afar.
Centre of light and energy! thy way
Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne, Morning and evening, and the close of day,
Far in the blue, untended, and alone:
Ere the first waken'd airs of earth had blown, On thou didst march, triumphant in thy light; Then thou didst send thy glance, which still hath flown
Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, And yet thy keen orb burns with flash as keen and bright. Percival's Poems. The summer day has closed-the sun is set; Well have they done their office, those bright hours, The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red West.
SUPERSTITION.
England a happy land we know, Where follies naturally grow, Where without culture they arise, And tow'r above the common size; England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars could boast, Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of fate in grounds of tea. Gypsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor, Who charms 'gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepar'd by arts, to them best known, To catch all feet except their own, Who as to fortune can unlock it, As easily as pick a pocket.
Handed from ages down; a nurse's tale- Which children, open-ey'd and mouth'd, devour; And thus as garrulous ignorance relates, We learn it and believe.
We may smile, or coldly sneer, The while such ghostly tales we hear,- And wonder why they were believ'd, And how wise men could be deceiv'd :-
Bathing our renovated sight
In the free Gospel's glorious light, We marvel it was ever night!
Mrs. Hale's Vigil of Love 'Tis Christian science makes our day, And freedom lends her lovely ray; And we forget 'neath our fair skies, The world that still in shadow lies;- That India bows to Juggernaut ;- And China worships gods of clay; And healing amulets are bought, Even where our Saviour's body lay; And holy miracles are wrought
Beneath St. Peter's cross-crown'd sway; And over Afric's wide domain
The powers of Death and Darkness reign! Mrs. Hale's Vigil of Love.
SUSPENSE-SUSPICION-SWAN-SWIMMING-SYMPATHY.
But be not long, for in the tedious minutes, Exquisite interval, I'm on the rack; For sure the greatest evil man can know, Bears no proportion to the dread suspense. Frowde's Fall of Saguntum. Uncertainty!
Fell demon of our fears! The human soul, That can support despair, supports not thee.
There is a panting in the zenith-hush! The swan! how strong her great wings time the silence!
She passes over high and quietly. Ah! thou wilt not stoop:
Mallet's Mustapha. Old Huron haply glistens on thy sky.
He lour'd on her with dangerous eye-glance, Showing his nature in his countenance; His rolling eyes did never rest in place, But walk'd each where for fear of hid mischance, Holding a lattis still before his face, Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace. Spenser's Fairy Queen. Suspicion is a heavy armour, and With its own weight impedes more than it pro- tects. Byron's Werner. Suspect!-that's a spy's office. Oh! we lose Ten thousand precious moments in vain words, And vainer fears. Byron's Sardanapalus. Better is the mass of men, Suspicion, than thy fears:
Yea, let the moralist condemn, there be large ex- tenuations of his verdict,
Let the misanthrope shun men and abjure, the most are rather loveable than hateful. Tupper's Proverbial Philosophy.
Better confide and be deceiv'd, A thousand times, by treacherous foes, Than once accuse the innocent, Or let suspicion mar repose.
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