"ALAS, HOW SOON THE HOURS ARE OVER COUNTED AS OUT TO PLAY THE LOVER!"-LANDOR. "IMAGE THE Memory, as the eye itself,—(walter s. LANDOR) The heart is hardest in the softest climes: What lifts thee up? What shakes thee? 'Tis the breath Of God. Awake, ye nations! spring to life! O thou degenerate Albion! with what shame And prompt and keen to pierce the wounded side! What thunder burst upon mine ear? some isle A pestilence, a pyre, awoke thy song, When, on the Chian coast, one javelin's throw SEES NEAR THINGS INDISTINCTLY, FAR THINGS WELL."-LANDOR. "AND HOW MUCH NARROWER IS THE STAGE ALLOTTED US TO PLAY THE SAGE!"-LANDOR. "THE FLAME OF ANGER, BRIGHT AND BRIEF, SHARPENS THE BARB OF LOVE."-WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 258 "THE BRIGHTEST MIND, WHEN SORROW SWEEPS ACROSS, WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. From where thy tombstone, where thy cradle stood, Scattered it into air......and Greece was free.............. All that Olympian Jove e'er smiled upon: Or other walls whose war-belt e'er inclosed Far beyond-that thy woe, in this thy fane : BECOMES THE GLOOMIEST."-WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. "YOUTH IS THE VIRGIN NURSE OF TENDER HOPE, AND LIFTS HER UP AND SHOWS A FAR-OFF SCENE."-LANDOR. "TEARS DRIVEN BACK UPON THE FOUNTAIN-HEAD, AND SORROW'S VOICE SUPPREST."-W. S. LANDOR. NEITHER THE SUNS NOR FROSTS OF ROLLING YEARS-(W. S. LANDOR) "WEAVE, WHILE IN QUIET SLEEP REPOSE THE DEAD; OH, WHEN WILL THEY TOO REST !"-LANDOR. CORINTH. Have ransomed first their country with their blood! To mingle names, august as these, with thine; * Timoleon, the patriot ruler of Corinth. DRY UP THE SPRINGS OR CHANGE THE COURSE OF TEARS. -LANDOR. "MORE MUTABLE THAN WIND-TORN LEAVES ARE WE; YEA, LOWER THAN THE DUST'S ESTATE."-W. S. LANDOR. 260 "BOASTFULLY WE CALL THE WORLD OUR OWN :-(LANDOR) WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Wept more than slavery ever made them weep, The hand that then poured ashes o'er their heads [From "The Hellenics," xv.] SIXTEEN. IN Clementina's artless mien And, are the roses of sixteen Lucilla asks, if that be all, Have I not culled as sweet before? Oh yes, Lucilla! and their fall I still deplore. I now behold another scene, Where pleasure beams with heaven's own light; More pure, more constant, more serene, Faith, on whose breast the loves repose, [From Landor's "Collected Works."] WHAT ARE WE WHO SHOULD CALL IT SO?"-w. s. LANDOR. "DISSEVERED FROM OURSELVES, ALIENS AND OUTCASTS, WE ONLY LIVE TO FEEL OUR FALL AND DIE."-LANDOR. "EXTREME IN ALL THINGS! HADST THOU BEEN BETWIXT,-BYRON) NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 261 John Gibson Lockhart. [JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, the son-in-law and biographer of Sir Walter Scott,-born in 1794, died in 1854,-was for many years the editor of the Quarterly Review. As a critic he was distinguished by his acuteness of analysis, and by the trenchant vigour of his satire. As a novelist, and the author of "Valerius," "Adam Blair," "Reginald Dalton," and "Matthew Wald," he showed a remarkable power in depicting the deeper passions of human nature, and in tracing the declension of a lofty mind from sin to sin. His style was clear and forcible; his command of pathos and humour extraordinary. He painted with all the power, and, let us add, all the gloom of a Rembrandt. His poetical translations from the Spanish are indisputably the finest of their kind; and many of his original poems show that he could have handled "the lyre," had he so willed, with a surprising mastery of touch. He was clear and original in conception; masculine and skilful in execution. "His pictures," says a critic, "have all the distinctness of an autumn landscape, outlined on the horizon by an unclouded morning sun."] "THERE SUNK THE GREATEST, NOR THE WORST OF MEN, WHOSE SPIRIT, ANTITHETICALLY MIXT,-(BYRON) ONE MOMENT OF THE MIGHTIEST, AND AGAIN ON LITTLE OBJECTS WITH LIKE FIRMNESS FIXT."-BYRON. NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.* Into the chambers of the deep; Each in his cave to sleep; And silent was the island shore, One only tree, one ancient palm, When Buonaparte died. An ancient man, a stately man, Came forth beneath the spreading tree, * This poem originally appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for July, 1821. THY THRONE HAD STILL BEEN THINE, OR NEVER BEEN. " BYRON. |