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On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows

Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave, The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows,

Like fond weeping mourners, lean over his grave. The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle;

He heeds not, he hears not, he's free from all pain; He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle; No sound can awake him to glory again!

The Grave of Bonaparte. Yet spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee,

But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee

A name which before thee no mortal hath won. Tho' nations may combat, and war's thunders rattle,

No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o'er the plain: Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last

battle, No sound can awake thee to glory again.


BAYARD TAYLOR. 1825-1878.

Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.

Bedouin Song.
They sang of love, and not of fame;

Forgot was Britain's glory;
Each heart recall'd a different name,
But all sang Annie Lawrie.

The Song of the Camp.
The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.


1 This song was composed and set to music, about 1812, by Leonard Heath, of Nashua, who died a few years ago. - BELA CHAPIN: The Poets of New llampshire, 1883, p. 760.


Two hands upon the breast,

And labour's done; }
Two pale feet crossed in rest,

The race is won. Now and Afterwards.



Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire.

A Life Drama. Sc. ii.
In winter, when the dismal rain

Came down in slanting lines,
And Wind, that grand old harper, smote
His thunder-harp of pines.


A poem round and perfect as a star.


H. F. CHORLEY. 1831-1872.

A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long!

The Brave O!d Oak.

Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak,

Who stands in his pride alone!
And still flourish he a hale green tree

When a hundred years are gone!


1 Two hands upon the breast, and labour is past. -- Russian Proverb.


Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight !
Make me a child again, just for to-night!

Rock me to sleep.
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years !
I am so weary of toil and of tears,
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain !
Take them, and give me my childhood again ! Ibid.


We have exchanged the Washingtonian dignity for the Jeffersonian simplicity, which was in truth only another name for the Jacksonian vulgarity.

Address at the Washington Centennial Service in

St. Paul's Chapel, New York, April 30, 1889. If there be no nobility of descent, all the more indispensable is it that there should be nobility of ascent, a character in them that bear rule so fine and high and pure that as men come within the circle of its influence they involuntarily pay homage to that which is the one pre-eminent distinction, the royalty of virtue.



Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.1

The Blue and the Gray.

1 This poem first appeared in the "Atlantic Monthly."


After an existence of nearly twenty years of almost innocuous desuetude these laws are brought forth.

Message, March 1, 1886. It is a condition which confronts us not a theory.

Annual Message, 1887. I have considered the pension list of the republic a roll of honor.

Veto of Dependent Pension Bill, July 5, 1888. Party honesty is party expediency.

Interview in New York Commercial Advertiser, Sept. 19, 1889.


Which I wish to remark,

And my language is plain, -
That for ways that are dark

And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar.

Plain Language from Truthful James.
Ah Sin was his name.


With the smile that was childlike and bland.



The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one ;
Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies

When the day is done.


i See Disraeli, page 607.


It may well wait a century for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for an observer.

John KEPLER (1571-1630). Martyrs of Science (Brewster). P. 197.

Needle in a bottle of hay.

FIELD (-_-1641): A Wornan 's a Weathercock. (Reprint, 1612, p. 20.)

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He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
To turn the current of a woman's will.

SAMUEL TUKE (—-1673): Adventures of Five Hours. Act v. Sc. 3.

Laugh and be fat.

John TAYLOR (1580 ? -1684). Title of a Tract, 1615.

Diamond cut diamond.

John FORD (1586-1639): The Lover's Melancholy. Act i. Sc. 1.

A liberty to that only which is good, just, and honest.

John WINTHROP (1588-1649): Life and Letters. Vol. ii. p. 341.

I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.

Richard BAXTER (1615-1691): Love breathing Thanks and Praise.

Though this may be play to you, 'Tis death to us.

Roger L'ESTRANGE (1616–1704): Fables from Several Authors.

Fable 398.

And there's a lust in man no charm can tame
Of loudly publishing our neighbour's shame;
On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly,
While virtuous actions are but born and die.

STEPHEN HARVEY (circa 1627): Juvenal, Satire ir.

May I govern my passion with absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away.

WALTER POPE (1630-1714): The Old Man's Wish.

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