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With littlc here to do or see

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; Of things that in the great world be,

pray you, love, remember :- and there is pansies, Sweet daisy ! oft I talk to thee.

that's for thoughts. For thou art worthy,

Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5.
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of nature, with that homely face,

And yet with something of a grace

As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Which love makes for thee !

Not wagging his sweet head. To the Daisy.

Cymbeline, Act iv. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARB. Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower But earthlier happy is the rose distilled, Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Have passed away ; less happy than the one Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to Midsummer Night's Dream, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, Poems composed in the Summer of 1833.

With whose sweet smell the air shall be per

fumed. We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,

King Henry VI., Part II. Act i. Sc.I.

SHAKESPEARE. When such are wanted. To the Daisy.

The Frenchman's darling. *

The Task: Winter Evening. Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,

And 't is my faith that every flower
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,

Enjoys the air it breathes.
First pledge of blithesome May,

Lines written in Early Spring.
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
An El Dorado in the grass have found,

Which not the rich earth's ample round
May match in wealth – thou art more dear to me I shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

If birds confabulate or no.
To the Dandelion.

J. R. LOWELL, "T is clear that they were always able

To hold discourse -- at least in fable.
O Proserpina !

Pairing Time Anticipated.
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's wagon! daffodils,

Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. That come before the swallow dares, and take

The Village Curate.

J. HURD'S. The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses,

Since o'er shady groves they hover, That die unmarried ere they can behold

And with leaves and flowers do cover
Bright Phoebus in his strength —

The friendless bodies of unburied men.
bold oxlips, and
The White Devil, Act v. Sc. 2.

The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds.
The Winter's Tale. Ad iv. Sc. 3.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail ?

0, 't is the ravished nightingale — A primrose by a river's brim

Jug, jug, jug, jug – tereu - she cries, A yellow primrose was to him,

And still her woes at midnight rise. And it was nothing more.

Brave prick-song! who is 't now we hear ?

None but the lark so shrill and clear, I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ;

The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark! but what a pretty note, Quite over-canopied with lnscious woodbine,

Poor Robin-redbreast tunes his throat ; With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.

Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc.1. SHAKESPEARE.

“('uckoo !" to welcome in the spring. Desert caves,

Alexander and Campaspe, Act v. Sc. I. JOHN LYLY With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown.

• Bartlett says. " It was Cowper who gave this now common name Lyaidas.

to the Mignonette."



Peter Bell.






O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray ! The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine !

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost till Essay on Man, Epistle 1.
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,

A poor sequestered stag,

That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Portend success in love.

Did come to languish ;

and the big round tears To the Nightingale.

Coursed one another down his innocent nose
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark In piteous chase.
When neither is attended ; and I think

As You Like It, Ad ii. Sc. 1.
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
No better a musician than the wren.

Had he thy reason, would be skip and play? How many things by season seasoned are

Pleased to the last, he crops the tlowery food, To their right praise and true perfection.

And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. Merchant of Venice, Ad v. Sc. I.

Essay on Man, Epistle I. So, naturalists observe, a flea

Now half appeared Has smaller fleas that on him prey;

The tawny lion, * pawing to get free And these have smaller still to bite 'em ; His hinder parts, then springs as broke from And so proceed ad infinitum.

bonds, Poetry, a Rhapsody,

And rampant shakes his brinded mane.
Paradise Lost, Book vii.

A harmless necessary cat.
Merchant of Venice, dat iv. Sc. 1.

• See Mr. Bryant's Introduction, page 32.





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Close his eyes; his work is clone! What to him is friend

mon on det of sun,

kiss of woman?
him. low, thy him low,

the clover on the snow!
What cares he? he

he? he camnet kuiwas Lay hin - low,

Gew. token




WAR FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE. In darkness, and pure and spangling snow

Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers

round ! O FIRST of human blessings, and supreme !

Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening Fair Peace! how lovely, how delightful thou !

peals By whose wide tie the kindred sons of men

In countless echoes through the mountains ring, Like brothers live, in amity combined

Startling pale midnight on her starry throne ! And unsuspicious faith ; while honest toil

Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar Gives every joy, and to those joys a right

Frequent and frightful of the bursting bomb; Which idle, barbarous rapine but usurps.

The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the Pure is thy reign.

shout, What would not, Peace ! the patriot bear for Inebriate with rage ; — loud, and more loud

The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of inen thee ?

The discord grows; till pale death shuts the What painful patience? What incessant care?

scene, What mixed anxiety? What sleepless toil ?

And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws Een from the rash protected, what reproach ?

His cold and bloody shroud. – Of all the men For he thy value knows; thy friendship he

Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, To human nature : but the better thou,

In proud and vigorous health ; of all the hearts The richer of delight, sometimes the more

That beat with anxious life at sunset there, Inevitable WAR, — when ruffian force

How few survive, how few are beating now ! Awakes the fury of an injured state.

All is deep silence, like the fearful calm E'en the good patient man whoin reason rules,

That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause; Roused by bold insult and injurious rage,

Save when the frantic wail of widowed love With sharp and sudden check the astonished sons Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan Of violence confounds ; firm as his cause

With which some soul bursts from the frame of His bolder heart ; in awful justice clad ;

clay His eyes effulging a peculiar fire :

Wrapt round its struggling powers.
And, as he charges through the prostrate war,
His keen arm teaches faithless men no more

The gray morn To dare the sacred vengeance of the just. Dawns on the mournful scene ; the sulphurous

smoke Then ardent rise! O, great in vengeance rise ! Before the icy wind slow rolls away, O'erturn the proud, teach rapine to restore ; And the bright beams of frosty morning dance And, as you ride sublimely round the world,

Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood Make every vessel stoop, make every state Even to the forest's depth, and scattered armıs, At once their welfare and their duty know.

And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments JAMES THOMSON,

Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful

path WAR.

Of the outsallying victors ; far behind,

Black ashes note where their proud city stood. Ah ! whence yon glare, Within yon forest is a gloomy glen, That fires the arch of heaven ? — that dark-red Each tree which guards its darkness from the smoke

day Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.


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