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PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822.

How wonderful is Death!

Death and his brother Sleep. Queen Mab. \.

Power, like a desolating pestilence,

Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience,

Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,

Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame

A mechanized automaton. ibid. Hi.

Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world. Ibid. iv.

Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.

The Revolt of Islam. Dedication, Stanza 6.

With hue like that when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.

Canto v. Stanza 23.

Kings are like stars, — they rise and set, they have
The worship of the world, but no repose.1 Bellas.

The moon of Mahomet
Arose, and it shall set;
While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon,

The cross leads generations on. Chorus from n<:ias.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call the moon. The Cloud, iv.

1 Compare Bacon, Essay xx., Empire. Page 138.

All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

They who inspire it most are fortunate,

As I am now; but those who feel it most

Are happier Still.1 Prometheus Unbound. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Those who inflict must suffer, for they see

The work of their own hearts, and that must be

Our chastisement or recompense. Julian and Maddah.

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong; They learn in suffering what they teach in song.a Ibid.

I could lie down like a tired child,

And weep away the life of care

Which I have borne, and yet must bear.

Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples.

The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame

Over his living head like Heaven is bent,

An early but enduring monument,

Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song

In sorrow. Adonais. xxx.

A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift. Ibid, xxxii.

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,

Stains the white radiance of eternity. Ibid. liii.

1 The pleasure of love is in loving. We are much happier in the passion we feel, than in that we inspire. — Rochefoucauld, Maxims 259.

1 And poets by their sufferings grow,
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent. — Butler's Fragments.

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Live within the sense they quicken.
Poem.: written in 1821. To -

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow! Ibid.

You lie-- under a mistake,
For this is the most civil sort of lie
That can be given to a man’s face. I now

Say what I think.
Translation of Calderon’x Mtigico Prodigioso. Scene i.

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.' A Defence q/`Po¢zr_y.

_
THOMAS DIBDIN. 1771-1841.

O, it ’s a snug little island!
A right little, tight little island! The Snug Little Island.

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They see nothing wrong in the rule that to the vio

tors belong the spoils of the enemy. Speech in the United States Senate, January, 1832

1 Compare Campbell. Page 442.

FELICIA D. HEMANS. 1794-1835.

The stately homes of England!

How beautiful they stand, Amid their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land! The Homes of England.

The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and roek-hound coast ; And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed.

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found, —

Freedom to worship God. Ibid.

Through the lahurnum's dropping gold

Rose the light shaft of Orient mould,

And Europe's violets, faintly sweet,

Purpled the mossheds at its feet. The Palm Tree.

They grew in beauty side by side,

They filled one home with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide,

By mount, and stream, and sea.

The Graves of a Household. Alas for love, if thou wert all,

And naught beyond, O Earth! Ibid.

The boy stood on the burning deck,

Whenee all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the hattle's wreek

Shone round him o'er the dead. Casahianca. 496 HEMANS. —BELLAMY. —DA VlES.

Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,

And stars to set; — but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

The Hour of Death.

Come to the sunset tree!

The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free,

And the reaper's work is done. TyroUte Evening Song.

In the busy haunts of men.

Tale of the Seeret Trihunal. Parti.

Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit, rest thee now! Siege of Valencia, Seene ix.

O, call my brother back to me!

I cannot play alone;
The summer comes with flower and bee, —

Where is my brother gone? The Child's First Grief.

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung his tassels forth.

The Voice of Spring.

G. W. BELLAMY.

Old Simon the eellarer keeps a rare store

Of Malmsey and Malvoisie. Simon the Cellarer.

SCROPE DAVIES.

Babylon in all its desolation is a sight not so awful as that of the human mind in ruins.

Letter to Thomas Baikes, May 25, 1835.

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