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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent

its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Locksley Hall. Line 49. This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

Line 75. Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Line 79. With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

Line 94. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels.

Line 105. Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

Line 117. Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing pur

pose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.

Line 137. Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

Line 141. I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Line 168. I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

Line 178. Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change.

Line 182. Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Line 184. I waited for the train at Coventry ; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this.


1 See Longfellow, page 618.

And on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went
In that new world which is the old.

The Day-Dream. The Departure, i.
And o'er the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

Ibid. iv.
We are ancients of the earth,
And in the morning of the times.

As she fled fast through sun and shade
The happy winds upon her play’d,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinerere.
For now the poet cannot die,

Nor leave his music as of old,

But round him ere he scarce be cold
Begins the scandal and the cry.

To after reading a Life and Letters.
But oh for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still !

Break, break, break.
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

The Brook.
Mastering the lawless science of our law, —
That codeless myriad of precedent,
That wilderness of single instances. Aylmer's Field.

Rich in saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Stanza 4. Oh good gray head which all men knew!


That tower of strength
Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Stanza 4.
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,

And never lost an English gun. Stanza 6.
Not once or twice in our rough-island story
The path of duty was the way to glory. Stanza 8.

All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.

The Charge of the Light Brigade. Stanza 1.
Some one had blunder'd :
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.

Stanza 2.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them.

Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

Stanza 3. That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of

lies; That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought

with outright; But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

The Grandmother. Stanza 8.
O Love! what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;

In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine !

The Daisy. Stanza 1. 1 Jaws of death. SHAKESPEARE: Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. 4. Du BARTas : Weekes and Workes, day i. part 4.

So dear a life your arms enfold,
Whose crying is a cry for gold.

The Daisy. Stanza 24.
Read my little fable :

He that runs may read.'
Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed. The Flower.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

Idylls of the King. Dedication.
It is the little rift within the lute
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all,

Ibid. Merlin and Vivien.
His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

Ibid. Launcelot and Elaine.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new;
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

The Passing of Arthur. I am going a long way With these thou seëst — if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

Ibid. With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.

The Princess. Prologue. Line 141. A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, And sweet as English air could make her, she.

Part i. Line 153. 1 See Cowper, page 422.

Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.

The Princess. Part ii. Line 355. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! Blow, bugle ! answer, echoes ! dying, dying, dying.

Part iii. Line 352.
O Love! they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying !
And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.

Line 360. There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.

Part iv. Line 1.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more. Line 21.

Unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square.

Line 33.
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d
On lips that are for others ; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret.
Oh death in life, the days that are no more ! Line 36.

Sweet is every sound,
Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;
Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

Part vii. Line 203.
Happy he
With such a mother ! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall,
He shall not blind his soul with clay.

Line 308.

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