Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

Brilliants.

FREEDOM.

'Tis vain-my tongue cannot impart
My almost drunkenness of heart,
When first this liberated eye

Survey'd earth, ocean, sun and sky,
As if my spirit pierced them through,
And all their inmost wonders knew!
One word alone can point to thee
That more than feeling-I was free!
E'en for thy presence ceased to pine:
The world-nay-heaven itself was mine!

BYRON.

HYPOCRISY.

To beguile the time,

Look like the time; bear welcome in your eyes,
Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it.

SHAKSPERE.

OCEAN.

the dark pile of cloud shook with the voice Of Zeus, who answer'd-" He shall be restored, But not return'd to earth. His cycle moves Ascending! The deep sea the announcement heard; And from beneath its ever-shifting thrones,

The murmuring of a solemn joy sent up.

HORNE.

MORNING.

On his shoulders Night

Flinging his ebon mantle rent with storms,
Grimly retired, as up the ethereal steep
The heavenly coursers mounted of the sun,
And bade the stars withdraw.

PENNIE.

DUTY AND DEATH.

O ever in our lowest grades of sense, Or when we use false shifts to bring about Ends otherwise all good, or when our hearts Are in the heaping up of cumbrous wealth, We tremble for our safety and fear death, Lest it should come between us and our heaps, Let fall the cloak that blinded our false shifts, Or take us from the luxury of sense.But in our highest walks where duty leads, Not falteringly in doubt, but to the right Pressing still onward, then is life itself Sunk in the right, and asks no separate care. If right be gulf'd in death, duty leaps in, With eye full on the right, but blind to death. The soul's integrity we buy with life, And hold ourselves the gainers :-yet if life We had not after that, where were the gain? ANONYMOUS.

SATAN.

He, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower; his form not yet had lost
All its original brightness, nor appear'd
Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs; darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all the archangel.

MILTON.

Emilia. 'Twas Agatha.

MUSIC.

And very fair she was, and very meek :
Tall too, and bent her as yon poplar bows
To the sweet music of the river airs:
And so it was she whisper'd.

Philostratus. What, in music!

Emilia. Ay, sir: for what is music, if sweet words Rising from tender fancies be not so?

Methinks there is no sound so gentle, none,

Not even the south-wind young, when first he comes
Wooing the lemon flowers, for whom he leaves
The coasts of Baiæ: not melodious springs,
Though heard i' the stillness of their native hills:
Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn,
Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute
Are half so sweet as tender human words.

BARRY CORNWALL.

FAITH.

Good love, however ill-placed,

Is better for a man's soul in the end
Than if he loved ill, what deserves love well.
A Pagan kissing, for a step of Pan,

The wild goat's footprint on the loamy down,
Exceeds our modern thinker, who turns back
The strata-granite, limestone, coal and clay,
Concluding cold with, Here's law! where's God?
E. B. BROWNING.

EARTHLY LOVE.

The chain of earthly love is ever breaking;
And most dear friends are dearest when apart:
Thy presence, friend, is lead upon my heart:
Indeed I love thee; yet, I know not how,
I'd love thee better, if thou'dst leave me now.

ANONYMOUS.

WISDOM MISAPPLIED.

By ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

If I were thou, O Butterfly,

And poised my purple wings, to spy
The sweetest flowers that live and die,-

I would not waste my strength on those,
As thou,-for summer hath a close,
And pansies bloom not in the snows.

If I were thou, O working bee,
And all that honey-gold I see
Could delve from roses easily;

I would not hive it at man's door,
As thou, that heirdom of my store
Should make him rich, and leave me poor.

If I were thou, O eagle proud,

And screamed the thunder back aloud,
And face the lightning from the cloud;

I would not build my eyrie-throne,
As thou, upon a crumbling stone,
Which the next storm may trample down.

If I were thou, O gallant steed,
With pawing hoof, and dancing head,
And eye outrunning thine own speed;

I would not meeken to the rein,
As thou, nor smooth my nostril plain,
From the glad desert's snort and strain.

If I were thou, red-breasted bird,
Whose song 's at shut-up window heard,
Like Love's sweet Yes too long deferr'd;

I would not overstay delight,
As thou, but take a swallow flight,
Till the new spring return'd to sight.

While yet I spake, a touch was laid
Upon my brow, whose pride did fade,
As thus, methought, an angel said:

VOL. VI.

S

91

"If I were thou, who singst this song, Most wise for others, and most strong In seeing right, while doing wrong;

"I would not waste my cares, and choose, As thou,-to seek what thou must lose, Such gains as perish in the use.

"I would not work where none can win, As thou, half way 'twixt grief and sin, But look above, and judge within.

"I would not let my pulse beat high, As thou,-toward fame's regality, Nor yet in love's great jeopardy.

"I would not champ the hard cold bit, As thou,-of what the world thinks fit,But take God's freedom, using it.

"I would not play earth's winter out,
As thou; but gird my soul about,
And live for life past death and doubt.

"Then sing, O singer!-but allow
Beast, fly, and bird, call'd foolish now,
Are wise (for all thy scorn) as thou!”

NEVER DESPAIR.

By WALTER SAVAGE LANDOr.

THE wisest of us all, when woe
Darkens our narrow path below,
Are childish to the last degree,
And think what is must always be.
It rains, and there is gloom around,
Slippery and sullen is the ground,
And slow the step; within our sight
Nothing is cheerful, nothing bright.
Meanwhile the sun on high, although
We will not think it can be so,