444

PASSIONS-FEELING.

There are some feelings time cannot benumo.

BYRON'S Childe Harold

An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,

But govern not thy pettiest passion.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

Admire exult-despise laugh- weep-for here
There is much matter for all feeling.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

My passions were all living serpents, and
Twin'd, like the gorgons, round me.

BYRON'S Werner

It was not strange; for in the human breast
Two master passions cannot co-exist.

The wildest ills that darken life
Are rapture to the bosom's strife;
The tempest, in its blackest form,
Is beauty to the bosom's storm.

CAMPBELL.

J. W. EASTBUrne.

And underneath that face, like summer's ocean's,

Its lip as noiseless, and its cheek as clear,
Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions,
Love-hatred-pride-hope-sorrow-all, save fear.
FITZ-GREEN HALLECK.

But, all in vain, to thought's tumultuous flow
I strive to give the strength of glowing words;
The waves of feeling, tossing to and fro,

In broken music o'er my heart's loose chords,
Give but their fainting echoes from my soul,
As thro' its silent depths their wild, swift currents roil.
MRS. AMELIA B WELBY,

"Tis chainless as the mountain tide,

That its resistless way doth force,
O er crags and cliffs on either side,
Right onward in its headlong course.

J. T. WATSON.

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lower'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

SHAKSPEARK

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility.

SHAKSPEARE

The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,

For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack

Of somebody to hew and hack.

BUTLER'S Hudibras.

Oh, peace! thou source and soul of social life;
Beneath whose calm, inspiring influence

Science his view enlarges, Art refines,

And swelling Commerce opens all her ports;
Blest be the man divine who gave us thee!

Now no more the drum

Provokes to arms, or trumpet's clangour shrill
Affrights the wives, or chills the virgins' blood;
But joy and pleasure open to the view

Uninterrupted.

THOMSON

PHILIPS' Cider.

46

PEASANT - PEDIGREE-PERFECTION

Oh! there were hours when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears -
The heartsick faintness of the hope delay'd,

The waste, the woes, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years!

SCOTT's Lord of the Isles

Peace is the bounteous goddess who bestows
Weddings, and holidays, and joyous feasts,
Relations, friends, health, plenty, social comforts,
And pleasures which alone make life a blessing.

CUMBERLAND's Philemon.

PEASANT. (See BLACKSMITH.)

PEDIGREE. (See ANCESTRY.)

PERFECTION.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

Nature in her productions, slow, aspires

B just degrees to reach perfection's height.

So slow

SHAKSPEARE.

SOMERVILE'S Chase.

The growth of what is excellent; so hard
Tattain perfection in this nether world.

COWPER'S Task.

PERIL-PERSEVERANCE, &c.

Oh! she was perfect past all parallel.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

I have been often dazzled by the blaze
Of sunlike beauty; but, till now, ne'er knew
Perfected loveliness-all the harmonies
Of form, of feature, and of soul, display'd
In one bright creature.

PERIL. (See DANGER.)

S. P. CHASE.

PERSEVERANCE. (See IDLENESS.)

PHILANTHROPY.-(See KINDNESS.)

[

PHILOSOPHY.

I will be flesh and blood; thee, peace; pray For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently; However they have writ the style of gods, And made a pish at chance and sufferance.

SHAKSPEARE.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Ilow charming is divine Philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.

SHAKSPEARE.

MILTON'S Comus

448

PHRENOLOGY.

Philosophy consists not

In airy schemes, or idle speculations :
The rule and conduct of all social life
Is her great province.

Alas! had reason ever yet the power

To talk down grief, or bid the tortur'd wretch
Not feel his anguish? "Tis impossible!

Divine philosophy! by whose pure light
We first distinguish, then pursue the right;
Thy power the breast from every error frees,
And weeds out all its vices by degrees.

THOMSON

WHITEHEAD

GIFFORD'S Juvene.

Oh, who, that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet?
How rays are confus'd, or how particles fly

Through the medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh?

Is there one, who but once would not rather have known it,
Than written, like Harvey, whole volumes upon

Sublime Philosophy!

Thou art the patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven,
And bright with beckoning angels; out, alas!
We see thee, like the patriarch, but in dreams,
By the first step, dull slumbering on the earth.

it?

BULWER'S Relieu.

PHRENOLOGY.

For of the soul the body form doth take;
For soul is form, and doth the body make.

SPENSER.