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FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.

A sacred burden is this life ye bear,
Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly,
Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly.
Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin,
But onward, upward, till the goal ye win.
Lines addressed to the Young Gentlemen leaving the
Lenox Academy, Mass.

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

The hope of all who suffer,
The dread of all who wrong.

The Mantle of St. John De Matha.

Making their lives a prayer.

On receiving a Basket of Sea Mosses.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Maud Muller.

Give lettered pomp to teeth of time,

So Bonny Doon but tarry;

Blot out the epic's stately rhyme,
But spare his Highland Mary.

Lines on Burns.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

I wiped away the weeds and foam,

I fetched my sea-born treasures home;

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore,

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

Each and All.

Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove young Phidias brought.

The Problem.

Out from the heart of Nature rolled

The burdens of the Bible old.

Ibid.

The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity;

Himself from God he could not free;
He builded better than he knew ;-

The conscious stone to beauty grew.

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As the best gem upon her zone.

Ibid.

Ib...

Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home: Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine. Good-Bye.

What are they all in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?

Ibid.

If eyes were made for seeing,

Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.

The Rhodora.

The silent organ loudest chants

The master's requiem.

Dirge.

Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.
Hymn, sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument.

It is as impossible for a man to be cheated by any one but himself, as for a thing to be and not to be at the same time.

Essay on Compensation.

All mankind love a lover.

Essay on Love.

The alleged power to charm down insanity, or ferocity in beasts, is a power behind the eye. Essay on Behaviour.

Thought is the property of him who can entertain it, and of him who can adequately place it. Representative Men. Shakespeare.

I rarely read any Latin, Greek, German, Italian, sometimes not a French book, in the original, which I can procure in a good version. ... I should as soon think of swimming across Charles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books in originals, when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue.

Books.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
Voices of the Night. Prelude.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

1

"Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. A Psalm of Life.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,2

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

Ibid.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Ivid.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;3
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor, and to wait.

Singet nicht in Trauertönen

Von der Einsamkeit der Nacht.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Song of Philine in Wilhelm Meister.

2 Ars longa, vita brevis.

Hippocrates, Aphorism i.

3 Compare Byron, To Moore, ante, p. 528.

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

The Reaper and the Flowers.

The star of the unconquered will.

The Light of Stars.

O, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,-
Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

Ibid.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

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No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Endymion.

Time has laid his hand

Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.

The Golden Legend.

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