whenever I strive for the reason my soul sinks away down and down into a depth that seems half air and half water, and I am like a man drownin' in a calm, and as he drowns, feelin' as if he were descendin' to the coral palaces o' the mermaids, where a' things are beautifu' but unintelligible, and after wanderin' about awhile under the saftly-looming climat, up again a' at ance into the every day world, in itself, o' a gude truth, as beautifu' and unintelligible too as any warld in the heavens above, or in the waters underneath the earth. North. Posthumous fame! Shepherd. What's mair nor ordinar' extrordinar' in that? We love our life, and we love our kind, and we love our earth, and we love ourselves. Therefore being immortal creatures, we love the thocht of never being forgotten by that kind, and in that life, and on that earth. Noctes Ambrosianæ. EVERY one that has been long dead has a due proportion of praise allotted to him, in which, while he lived, his friends were too profuse, and his enemies too sparing. SOME with vast costly tombs would purchase it,* We poets madder yet than all, Think we not only have but give eternity. Who his to-morrow would bestow ADDISON. For all old Homer's life, ev'n since he died till now. COWLEY. Odes. No man ever attained lasting fame who did not on several occasions contradict the prejudices of popular opinion. BLAIR. Sermons. * Can storied urn or animated bust GRAY. Elegy. TO EVENING. IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, Thy springs, and dying gales ; O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain, Whose numbers stealing through the dark'ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As, musing slow, I hail For when thy folding-star arising shows And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, The pensive pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain And hamlets brown, and dim discover'd spires; Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, MORNING. To hear the lark begin his flight, While the cock, with lively din, COLLINS. While the ploughman near at hand, MILTON. L'Allegro. THE rising of the sun has the same effect on me as it is said to have had on the celebrated statue of Memnon; and I never observe that glorious luminary breaking out upon me that I do not find myself harmonised for the whole day. FITZOSBORNE. Letters, Letter LI. THUS wore out night; and now the herald lark Paradise Regained, Book II. UPON a summer Sunday morn The rising sun owre Galston muirs Fu' sweet that day. BURNS. The Holy Fair. THUS, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited morn appear, Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, But kercheft in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or usher'd with a shower still As when a windy tempest bloweth hye, Faëry Queen. Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves. MILTON. Il Penseroso. TILL Morn Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light. Paradise Lost, Book VII. THUS pass'd the night so foul, till morning fair BUT who the melodies of morn can tell? * O Nature, how in every charm supreme! Pleasure from the View of Nature. Ripening harvest rushes in the gate. A glorious sight, if glory dwells below, Where Heaven's munificence makes all the show, That glads the ploughman's Sunday morning's round, Whilst here, the veriest clown that treads the sod, BLOOMFIELD. Farmer's Boy. |