From Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand.

Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile.

Missionary Hymn.

I see them on their winding way,

About their ranks the moonbeams play.

Ibid.

Lines written to a March.

WASHINGTON IRVING. 1783-1859.

Free-livers on a small scale, who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea.

The Stout Gentleman.

The almighty dollar,1 that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages. The Creole Village.

LEIGH HUNT. 1784-1859.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace.

Abou Ben Adhem.

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men.
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Oh for a seat in some poetic nook,
Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!

Ibid.

Ibid.

Politics and Poetics.

With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.

1 See Jonson, page 178.

The Story of Rimini.

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view.

The Old Oaken Bucket.

Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

Ibid.

Ibid.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 1785-1842.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

When looks were fond and words were few.

Ibid.

Poet's Bridal-day Song.

SIR W. F. P. NAPIER. 1785-1860.

Napoleon's troops fought in bright fields, where every helmet caught some gleams of glory; but the British soldier conquered under the cool shade of aristocracy. No honours awaited his daring, no despatch gave his name to the applauses of his countrymen; his life of danger and hardship was uncheered by hope, his death unnoticed.

Peninsular War (1810). Vol. ii. Book xi. Chap. iii.

JOHN PIERPONT. 1785-1866.

A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman's will,

As lightning does the will of God;
And from its force nor doors nor locks
Can shield you,—'t is the ballot-box.

A Word from a Petitioner.

From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart,1-may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.

Every Place a Temple.

BRYAN W. PROCTER. 1787-1874.

The sea! the sea! the open sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

The Sea.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

Ibid.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,

But I loved the great sea more and more.

Ibid.

Through a quiet dream.

Touch us gently, Time.

1 See Cotton, page 362.

2 See Crabbe, page 445.

LORD BYRON. 1788-1824.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.

Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

I only know we loved in vain ;
I only feel farewell! farewell!

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years.

Ibid.

When we Two parted.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

Line 51.

Line 66.

With just enough of learning to misquote.

As soon

Seek roses in December, ice in June;

Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,

Or any other thing that's false, before

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.1

1 See Waller, pages 219-220.

Line 826.

Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 839.

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!

Maid of Athens.

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. stanza 5.

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.

Stanza 7.

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

Stanza 9.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

Stanza 15.

Stanza 20.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.

Stanza 40.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.1

1 Medio de fonte leporum

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat

Stanza 82.

(In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers). LUCRETIUS: iv. 1133.