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Sloth lay till mid-day, turning on his couch,
Like ponderous door upon its weary hinge.
Pollock's Course of Time.

Fax not my sloth that I
Fold my arms beside the brook;
Each cloud that floateth in the sky
Writes a letter in my book.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Here have I sat since morn, reading sometimes,
And sometimes listening to the faster fall
Of the large drops, or rising with the stir
Of an unbidden thought, have walk'd awhile,
With the slow step of indolence, my room,
And then sat down composedly again
To my quaint book of olden poetry.
It is a kind of idleness, I know;
And I am said to be an idle man—
And it is very true.

Willis's Poems.

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| Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.
This was the ancient keeper of that place,
And foster-father of the giant dead;
His name Ignara, did his nature right aread.
Spenser's Fairy Queen •
'Tis naught but shows that ignorance esteems:
The thing possess'd, is not the thing it seems.
Daniel's Civil War.

Ignorance, that sometimes makes the hypocrite,
Wants never mischief; though it oft want fear:
For whilst we think faith made to answer wit,
Observe the justice that doth follow it.

Lord Brooke's Alaham. Oh, to confess we know not what we should, Is half excuse; we know not what we would. Dr. Donne.

Heaven pities ignorance; She's still the first that has her pardon sign'd; All sins clse see their faults, she's only blind. Middleton's No Help like a Woman's.

Let ignorance with envy chat,

In spite of both, thou fame shalt win;
Whose map of learning seems like that
Which Joseph gave to Benjamin.

Herrick-to Ben Jonson

The truest characters of ignorance

Are vanity, and pride, and arrogance;

As blind men use to bear their noses higher Than those that have their eyes and sight entire

Ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour, It cannot wield it.


Webster's Dutchess of Malfy.

But 't is some justice to ascribe to chance
The wrongs you must expect from ignorance:
None can the moulds of their creation choose,
We therefore should men's ignorance excuse,
When born too low, to reach at things sublime;
'Tis rather their misfortune than their crime.
Sir W. Davenant on the Earl of Orrery.

I, alas, was ignorant of thee,

As men have ever been of things most excellent; Making such judgment of thy beauty, as Astronomers on stars;

Who, when their better use they could not know, Believ'd that they were only made for show.

Sir W. Davenant's Fair Favourite.

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With just enough of learning to misquote. Byron's English Bards, &c. Who laughs to scorn the wisdom of the schools, And thinks the first of poets first of fools.


Charles Sprague.

He had a fever when we were in Spain,
And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 't is true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that same cye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact.


Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream.

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Oh no, the apprehension of the good,

Shaks. Richard II.

My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass,

Shaks. Julius Cæsar. Wherein m' imaginations run like sands,
Filling up time; but then are turn'd and turn'd:
So that I know not what to stay upon,

May be he is not well, Infirmity doth still neglect all office,

Whereto our health is bound; we're not ourselves, When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind

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And less to put in art.

Jonson's Every Man in his Humour
Subtle opinion,

Working in man's decayed faculties,
Cuts out and shapes illusive fantasies;
And our weak apprehensions, like wax,
Receive the form, and presently convey
Unto our dull imagination:

And hereupon we ground a thousand lies,
As-that we see devils rattling in their chains;
Ghosts of dead men, variety of spirits;
When our own guilty conscience is the hell,
And our black thoughts, the caverns where they
Day's Law Tricks.
Imagination works; how she can frame
Things which are, not; methinks she stands
before me,


And by the quick idea of my mind,
Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture


Fancy can save or kill; it hath clos'd up Wounds when the balsam could not, and without to think hath been a cure.

Bailey's Festus. The aid of salves : —

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Woe to the youth whom fancy gains,
Winning from reason's hand the reins,
Pity and woe! for such a mind
Is soft, contemplative, and kind.

Scott's Rokeby.

Of its own beauty is the mind discas'd,
And fevers into false creation: - where,
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized?
In him alone. Can nature show so fair?


It must be so; Plato, thou reasonest well:
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
"T is the divinity that stirs within us;

Where are the charms and virtues which we dare T is heaven itself that points out an hereafter,

Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men?
The unreach'd paradise of our despair,
Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen,

And overpowers the page where it would bloom

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The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point:
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself

Who loves, raves-'tis youth's phrenzy-but the Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;


Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds
Which rob'd our idols, and we see too sure,
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's
Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds;
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,
Seems ever near the prize,-wealthiest when most
Byron's Childe Harold.
Why have ye linger'd on your way so long,
Bright visions who were wont to hear my call,
And with the harmony of dance and song,
Keep round my dreaming couch a festival?


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The palate for the more substantial food
Of our own land-reality.


Miss Landon.

Alas! we make

A ladder of our thoughts, where angels step,
But sleep ourselves at the foot.

Miss Landon.
'Mid earthly scenes forgotten or unknown,
Lives in ideal worlds, and wanders there alone.
Carlos Wilcox.

He is a God who wills it,-with a power
To work his purpose out in earth and air,
Though neither speak him fair!-

So may he pluck from earth its precious flower,
And in the ether choose a spirit rare,
To serve him deftly in some other sphere.

W. G. Simms.

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Addison's Cato.

Look nature through: 't is revolution all;
All change; no death. Day follows night, and night
The dying day; stars rise, and set, and rise;
Earth takes th' example. See the summer gay,
With her green chaplet and ambrosial flowers,
Droops into pallid autumn: winter grey,
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm,
Blows autumn and his golden fruits away,
Then melts into the spring: soft spring, with breath
Favonian, from warm chambers of the south,
Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, fades;
As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend,
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires.
Young's Night Thoughts.

Can it be?

Matter immortal? and shall spirit die?
Above the nobler, shall less nobler rise?
Shall man alone, for whom all else revives,
No resurrection know? Shall man alone,
Imperial man! be sown in barren ground,
Less privileg'd than grain, on which he feeds?
Young's Night Thoughts.
Still seems it strange, that thou should'st live for

Is it less strange, that thou should'st live at all?
This is a miracle; and that no more.

Young's Night Thoughts.
Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplish'd, why the grave of bliss?

Upon the poet's soul they flash for ever,
In evening shades these glimpses strange and Because in the great future buried deep,


Iacy fill his heart betimes,-they leave him never,
And aunt his steps with sounds of falling feet.
W. G. Simms.

Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And He who made him, bent him to the right.
Young's Night Thoughts.



Immortality o'ersweeps

There are distinctions that will live in heaven,

All pains, all tears, all time, all fears-and peals When time is a forgotten circumstance!

Like the eternal thunders of the deep
Into my ears this truth-Thou liv'st for ever.


Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, But that which warm'd it once shall never die.


The splendours of the firmament of time
May be eclips'd, but are extinguish'd not:
Like stars to their appointed heights they climb,
And death is a low mist which cannot blot
The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,
And love and life contend in it for what
Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there,
And move like winds of light on dark and stormy
Attempt how monstrous and how surely vain,
With things of earthly sort, with aught but God,
With aught but moral excellence, truth and love,
To satisfy and fill the immortal soul!

Pollock's Course of Time.
Our proper good we rarely seek or make;
Mindless of our immortal powers, and their
Immortal end, as is the pearl its worth,
The rose its scent, the wave its purity.

Bailey's Festus.
And with our frames do perish all our loves?
Do those who took their root and put forth buds,

And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,
Then fade and fall like fair unconscious flowers?
Dana's Poems.

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The elevated brow of kings will lose

The impress of regalia, and the slave
Will wear his immortality as free
Beside the crystal waters; but the depth
Of glory in the attributes of God,
Will measure the capacities of mind;
And as the angels differ, will the ken
Of gifted spirits glorify Him more.

Willis's Poems.
Love, which proclaims the human, bids thee know
A truth more lofty in thy lowliest hour
Than shallow glory taught to human power-


Bulwer's Poems.

What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear,
That thou art crown'd, not that I am dead.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.
Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again
King.-Thy wish was father, Harry, to that

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm
Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.
Oh! how impatience gains upon the soul,
When the long promised hour of joy draws near!
How slow the tardy moments seem to roll!
Mrs. Tighe


Methinks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long.

Shaks. King John

Seldom when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. Shaks. Mea. for Mea

What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison Th' immediate heir of England! was this easy May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? Shaks. Henry IV. Part 1J

So we'll live,

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies; and hear poor rogues
Talk of court-news, and we'll talk with them too;
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who 's out;
And take upon us the mystery of things,

A single jail in Alfred's golden reign,
Could half the nation's criminals contain;
Fair justice then, without constraint ador'd,
Held high the steady scale, but sheath'd the sword;
No spies were paid, no special juries known;
Blest age! but ah! how different from our own!
Dr. Johnson's London,

As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sets of great ones, I only heard the reckless waters roar,
That ebb and flow by th' moon.


Shaks. Lear.

That comes with honour, is true liberty.
Massinger and Field's Fatal Dowry.
Your narrow souls,

If you have any, cannot comprehend
How insupportable the torments are,
Which a free and noble soul made captive, suffers.
Massinger's Maid of Honour.

Why should we murmur to be circumscrib'd,
As if it were a new thing to wear fetters?
When the whole world was meant but to confine us;
Wherein, who walks from one clime to another,
Hath but a greater freedom of the prison:
Our soul was the first captive, born to inherit
But her own chains; nor can it be discharg'd,
Till nature tire with its own weight, and then
We are but more undone, to be at liberty.

Shirley's Court Secret.
Let them fear bondage who are slaves to fear;
The sweetest freedom is an honest heart.

John Ford's Lady's Trial.
Death is the pledge of rest, and with one bail,
Two prisons quits; the body and the jail.

Bishop King.
Nature, in spite of fortune, gave no ininds,
That cannot like our bodies be enthrall'd.
Sir Ralph Freeman's Imperiale.

Dost thou use me as fond children do
Their birds, show me my freedom in a string,
And when thou'st play'd with me a while, then

Me back again, to languish in my cage?

Sir W. Davenant's Unfortunate Lovers.

Her sweetness is imprison'd now,
Like weeping roses in a still, and is,
Like them, ordain'd to last by dissolution.
Sir W. Davenant's Love and Honour.

Is the inheritance of all things finite;
Nor can we boast our liberty, though we
Are not restrained by strong-holds; when as
The neighb'ring air confines us, and each man
Is thraldom's perfect emblem: for in all,
The soul is captive, and the body's thrall.

Marriage Broker.

Those waves that would not bear me from the shore;


I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky,
Too bright-too blue- for my captivity;
And felt that all which freedom's bosom cheers
Must break my chain before it dried my tears.
Byron's Corsair.

Within its cage the imprison'd matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song;
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,
No consort's bliss, no father's joy he shares;
Yet still the rising radiance glads his sight,
His fellows' freedom soothes the captive's cares.
Coleridge's Sonnet to Lafayette,

What has the grey-hair'd prisoner done?
Has murder stain'd his hands with gore?
Not so; his crime's a fouler one;


Whittier's Poems,

Look on him!-through his dungeon grate,
Feebly and cold, the morning light
Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
As if it loath'd the sight.

Whittier's Poems.

Down with the Law that binds him thus!
Unworthy freemen, let it find

No refuge from the withering curse
Of God and human kind!
Open the prison's living tomb,
And usher from its brooding gloom
The victims of your savage code,
To the free sun and air of God;
No longer dare as crime to brand
The chastening of the Almighty's hand.

Whittier's Poems.


He that has but impudence,
To all things has a fair pretence;
And put among his wants but shame,
To all the world may lay his claim.

Butler's Hudibras

Immodest words admit of no defence,
For want of decency is want of sense.


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