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Was never evening yet

But seemed far beautifuller than its day.

The Ring and the Book. Pompilia. Line 357. The curious crime, the fine

Felicity and flower of wickedness.

Of what I call God,

And fools call Nature.

Ibid. The Pope. Line 590.

Why comes temptation, but for man to meet
And master and make crouch beneath his foot,
And so be pedestaled in triumph?

White shall not neutralize the black, nor good
Compensate bad in man, absolve him so:
Life's business being just the terrible choice.

It is the glory and good of Art

That Art remains the one way possible

Line 1073

Line 1185.

Line 1236.

Of speaking truth,to mouths like mine, at least.

1

Ibid. The Book and the Ring. Line 842.

Thy rare gold ring of verse (the poet praised)
Linking our England to his Italy.

But how carve way i' the life that lies before,
If bent on groaning ever for the past?

Line 873.

Balaustion's Adventure.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I,
Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed,-
As, God be thanked! I do not.

Have found your

you

The Inn Album. iv.

life distasteful?

My life did, and does, smack sweet.
Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?
Mine I saved and hold complete.
Do your joys with age diminish?
When mine fail me, I'll complain.
Must in death your daylight finish?
My sun sets to rise again.

At the Mermaid." Stanza 10.

1 Mrs. Browning.

"With this same key

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Shakespeare unlocked his heart once more!
Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance,
Rests never on the track until it reach
Delinquency.2

CHARLES DICKENS. 1812-1870.

House. x.

Cenciaja.

A demd, damp, moist, unpleasant body!

My life is one demd horrid grind.

Nicholas Nickleby. Chap. xxxiv.
Chap. Ixiv.

Pickwick Papers. Chap. i.

In a Pickwickian sense.

Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,

That creepeth o'er ruins old!

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In his cell so lone and cold.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the ivy green.

Chap. vi.

He's tough, ma'am,-tough is J. B.; tough and devil

ish sly.

When found, make a note of.

Dombey and Son. Chap. vii.

Chap. xv.

The bearings of this observation lays in the application on it.

Barkis is willin'.

Chap. xxiii. David Copperfield. Chap. v.

Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, all very good words for the lips, especially prunes and prism. Little Dorrit. Book ii. Chap. v.

Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the public departments in the art of perceiving HOW NOT to do it.

Chap. x.

In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile.

1 See Wordsworth, page 485.

Christmas Carol. Stave 2.

2 See Herbert, page 206.

CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH. 1813

Thought is deeper than all speech,
Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach

What unto themselves was taught.

We are spirits clad in veils;

Man by man was never seen;
All our deep communing fails

To remove the shadowy screen.

Stanzas.

Ibid.

F. W. FABER. 1814-1863.

For right is right, since God is God,1
And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,

To falter would be sin.

The Right must win.

Labour itself is but a sorrowful song,

The protest of the weak against the strong.

The Sorrowful World.

CHARLES MACKAY.

Cleon hath a million acres,

1814-

ne'er a one have I;

Cleon dwelleth in a palace, in a cottage I.

-

But the sunshine aye shall light the sky,
As round and round we run;

And the truth shall ever come uppermost,

And justice shall be done.

Cleon and I.

Eternal Justice. Stanza 4.

Aid the dawning, tongue and pen;
Aid it, hopes of honest men!

Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's
Where the shrill winds whistle free.

There's a good time coming, boys!
A good time coming.

1 See Crabbe, page 444.

Clear the Way.

foam,

Some love to roam.

The Good Time coming.

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when earth was young.

Tubal Cain.

ELLEN STURGIS HOOPER. 1816-1841.

I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly;
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A truth and noonday light to thee.

Life a Duty.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

1816

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Life's but a means unto an end; that end
Beginning, mean, and end to all things, God.

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Festus. Scene, A Country Town.

Poets are all who love, who feel great truths,
And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.

Scene, Another and a Better World.

America! half-brother of the world!
With something good and bad of every land.

Scene, The Surface.

ELIZA COOK. 1817-

I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?

The Old Arm-Chair.

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When memory plays an old tune on the heart! Old Dobbin.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS. 1817-1867.

At present there is no distinction among the upper ten

thousand of the city.1

Necessity for a Promenade Drive.

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,

And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice

And the light of a pleasant eye.

It is the month of June,

Saturday Afternoon.

The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes,

And pleasant scents the noses.

The Month of June.

Let us weep in our darkness, but weep not for him!
Not for him who, departing, leaves millions in tears!
Not for him who has died full of honor and years!
Not for him who ascended Fame's ladder so high
From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky.
The Death of Harrison.

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 1817———

I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me;
If my bark sinks, 't is to another sea.

A Poet's Hope.

I sing New England, as she lights her fire
In every Prairie's midst; and where the bright
Enchanting stars shine pure through Southern night,
She still is there, the guardian on the tower,
To open for the world a purer hour.

Most joyful let the Poet be;

It is through him that all men see.

New England.

The Poet of the Old and New Times.

1 See Haliburton, page 580.

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