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WHILE others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
While some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth, the moral of my wit,
To- plain and true; there's all the reach of it.


Truth, like a single point, escapes the sight,
And claims attention to perceive it right;
But what resembles Truth is soon descry'd,
Spreads like a surface, and expanded wide.
The first man rarely, very rarely finds
The tedious search of long inquiring minds;
But yet what's worse, we know not what we err:
What mark does Truth, what bright distinction bear?
How do we know that what we know is true?
How shall we falsehood fly, and Truth pursue?


If truth be with thy friend, be with them both:
Share in the conquest, and confess a troth.


It is not in the power
Of painting or of sculpture to express
Aught so divine as the fair form of Truth!
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul.


'Tis strange but true; for truth is always strange,
Stranger than fiction. If it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!


Truth only needs to be for once spoke out
And there's such music in her, such strange rhythm,
As makes men's memories her joyous slaves,
And cling around the soul, as the sky clings
Round the mute earth for ever beautiful.




THRICE happy you that look as from the shore,
And have no venture in the wreck you see;
No interest, no occasion to deplore


Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free. How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be: Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.

Samuel Daniel.


WHEN pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star;
Above, below, aërial murmurs swell,

From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell! A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, Stealing soft music on the ear of night.


O Twilight! spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments-melting heaven to earth-
Leaving on craggy hills, and running streams,
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.

Mrs. Norton.


So a fond pair of solemn birds, all day,
Blink in their seat, and doze the hours away;
Then by the moon awaken'd, forth they move,
And fright the songsters with their cheerless love.
So two sear trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,
Each other catch, when falling to the ground;
Entwine their wither'd arms 'gainst wind and weather,
And shake their leafless heads and drop together.
So two cold limbs, touched by Galvani's wire,
Move with new life, and feel awaken'd fire;
Quivering awhile their placid forms remain,
Then turn to cold torpidity again,


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Он, 't is excellent

To have a giant's strength! but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.


'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference knownKings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own. Herrick.

But yet, O man, rage not beyond thy need;
Deem it not glory to swell in tyranny:
Thou art of blood; joy not to see things bleed:
Thou fearest death: think they are loth to die.
A plaint of guiltless hurt doth pierce the sky,
Sir P. Sidney.

So spake the fiend, and with necessity,
The tyrant's plea, excused his devilish deeds.


But what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores,
With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart,
The smiles of nature and the charms of art,
While proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny usurps her happy plains.


We are what suns and winds and waters make us;
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles;
But where the land is dim from tyranny,
There tiny pleasures occupy the place
Of glories and of duties; as the feet
Of fabled fairies, when the sun goes down,

Trip o'er the grass where wrestlers strove by day.
Then Justice, called the Eternal one above,
Is more inconstant than the buoyant form
That bursts into existence from the froth
Of ever-varying ocean: what is best

Then becomes worst: what loveliest most deformed.
The heart is hardest in the softest climes,

The passions flourish, the affections die.

W. S. Landor.



Он, dear unbelief!

How wealthy dost thou make thy owner's wit!
Thou train of knowledge, what a privilege
Thou giv'st to thy possessor! anchorest him
From floating with the tide of vulgar faith,
From being damn'd with multitudes!

Hast never seen the death-bed of the unbeliever?
'Twas anguish, terror, darkness without bow:
But O, it had a most convincing tongue,
A potent oratory, that secur'd
Most mute attention.


MOST miserable creature under sky,
Man without Understanding doth appear;
For all this world's affliction he thereby,
And fortune's freaks is wisely taught to bear;
Of wretched life the only joy she is,
And th' only comfort in calamities.


Give me, next good, an understanding wife,
By nature wise, not learned by much art;
Some knowledge on her side will all my life
More scope of conversation impart;
Besides her inborn virtue fortify;
They are most good, who best know why.


BE thine the more refin'd delights
Of love, that banishes control,
When the fond heart with heart unites,
And soul's in unison with soul.


And canst thou not accord thy heart
In unison with mine-

Whose language thou alone hast heard,
Thou only canst divine?


Sir T. Overbury.



Rufus Dawes,





APPETITE, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up itself.

From things particular,

He doth abstract the universal kinds.


MANY are the trees of God that grow
In Paradise, and various yet unknown
To us.

Father of heaven, Whose word called out this universe to birth.



FOR time is ever hurrying on;
To the hour of death our moments run;



Tell me no more

Of my soul's lofty gifts! Are they not vain
To quench its haunting thirst for happiness?
Have I not loved, and striven, and failed to bind
One true heart unto me, whereon my own
Might find a resting-place, a home for all
Its burden of affection. I depart

Unknown, though Fame goes with me: I must leave
The earth unknown.
Mrs. Hemans.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life.


What, in our long career, what useful have we done? From the Spanish of Prudentius.

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch where thro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.


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