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“Blow wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
66. Ruin seize thee, ruthless King !
They mock the air with idle state.
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!'
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
The BARD. — Gray. “ There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable; and let it come! I repeat it, Sir, let it come!
“It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle ? What is it that the Gentlemen wish? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me lib arty, or give me death !”-Patrick Henry.
“ Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
(Looking round him.)
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
SONNET TO MILTON.- Wordsworth, “Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honors ; with this key.
THE SONNET. -- Ibid. “ Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are three sisters
That doat upon each other, friends to man,
-He that shuts Love out, in turn shall be
THE PALACE OF ART.- Tennyson. “Think of him [Goldsmith] reckless, thriftless, vain if you like - but merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out of our life, and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of the poor pensioners weeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits that admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that wrote his epitaph—and of the wonderful and unanimous response of affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave it. His humor delighting us still ; his song fresh and beautiful as when first he charmed with it: his words in all our mouths : his very weakness beloved and familiar,-his benevolent spirit seems still to smile upon us: to do gentle kindnesses : to succour with sweet charity: to soothe, to caress, and forgive: to plead with the fortunate for the unhappy and the poor.”—Thackeray.
“ The quality of mercy is not strained;
The deeds of mercy.”— Portia.— MERCHANT OF VENICE. “The flowers may fade away, the woods may fall,
The sea may waste the land, the land the sea,
And men may feed the worms beneath the pall,
And time may vanish in Eternity;
Filled from exhaustless urns;
And God still sits on high,
CARMEN NATURÆ TRIUMPHALE. – R. H. Stoddard.
“ Each in his own way; each in his own profession ; each through that little spot in the universe given to him. For not only is God everywhere, but all of God is in every point. Not his wisdom here, and His goodness there; the whole truth may be read, if we had eyes, and heart, and time enough, in the laws of a daisy's growth. God's Beauty, His Love, His Unity; nay, if you observe how each atom exists, not for itself alone, but for the sake of every other atom in the universe, in that atom or daisy, you may read the law of the Cross itself. The crawling of a beetle before now has taught perseverance, and led to a crown. The little moss, brought close to a traveller's eye in an African desert, who had lain down to die, roused him to faith in that Love which had so curiously arranged the minute fibres of a thing so small, to be seen once, and but once by a human eye, and carried him, like Elijah of old, in the strength of that heavenly repast, a journey of forty days and forty nights to the sources of the Nile; yet who could have suspected divinity in a beetle, or theology in a moss?”- Robertson.
“We hold the keys of Heaven in our hands,
The gift and heirloom of a former state,
And lie in infancy at Heaven's gate,
And up and down the skies,
With winged sandals shod,
It is the childish heart;
We walk as heretofore,
Not Heaven is gone, but we are blind with tears,
CARMEN NATURÆ TRIUMPHALE. — Stoddard. “Not only around our infancy
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not;
Against our fallen and traitor lives
With our faint hearts the mountain strives ;
Waits with its benedicite;
VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.-J. R. Lowell.
" Look how the floor of heaven
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.”- Shakespeare “How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
all form a scene