O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which nature to her votary yields! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven, Ohow canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven! Beattie's Minstrel. There health, so wild and gay, with bosom bare, And rosy check, keen eye, and flowing hair, Trips with a smile the breezy scene along, And pours the spirit of content in song.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.
But peace was on the cottage, and the fold, From court intrigue, from bickering faction far; Beneath the chestnut tree love's tale was told; And to the tinkling of the light guitar, Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the evening star.
Scott's Vision of Don Roderick. There shall be love, when genial morn appears, Like pensive beauty, smiling in her tears, To watch the brightening roses of the sky, And muse on nature with a poet's eye!
Thanks to my humble nature, while I've limbs, Tastes, senses, I'm determined to be rich; So long as that fine alchymist, the sun, Can transmute into gold whate'er I like
On earth, in air, or water! while a banquet Is ever spread before me, in a hall
Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. Of nature's self, and ringing to the sounds
Of heaven's own building, perfumed with the breath
The moon is up-the watch-tower dimly burns-Of her own choristers.
And down the vale his sober step returns;
But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey The still sweet fall of music far away;
Poor drudge of the city!
How happy he feels,
With burrs on his legs
And the grass at his heels; No dodger behind,
And oft he lingers from his home awhile To watch the dying notes; and start, and smile. Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. It was in this lone valley she would charm The ling'ring noon, where flow'rs a couch had No constable grumbling-
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown: And aye that volume on her lap is thrown, Which every heart of human mould endears; With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, And no intruding visitation fears,
To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweet- est tears.
Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming. From the white-thorn the May-flower shed Its dewy fragrance round our head: Not Ariel lived more merrily Under the blossom'd bough than we.
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers, And never know the weight of human hours.
Your love in a cottage is hungry,
Your vine is a nest for flies. Your milkmaid shocks the graces
And simplicity talks of pics! You lie down to your shady slumber
And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. Shaks. Macbeth.
I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.
But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, Than what I fear; for always I am Cæsar.
Think not, thou noble Roman,
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
He bears too great a mind.
I dare assure thee that no enemy Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: The Gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive, or dead, He will be found like Brutus,—like himself. Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: Advance our standards, set upon our foes; Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! Upon them! Victory sits upon our helms. Shaks. Richard III.
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretagnes; whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten,bobb'd, and thump'd, And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. Shaks. Richard III
Fight, gentlemen of England; fight, bold yeomen: Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head. Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood: Amaze the welkin with your broken staves. Shaks. Richard III.
King Richard.-A horse: a horse! my kingdom
Catesby.-Withdraw, my lord: I'll help you to a
King Richard.-Slave, I have set my life upon a
And I will stand the hazard of the die.
Shaks. Richard III. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Shaks. Richard III. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood; Yet lives our pilot still. Is 't meet that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea, And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles, in his moan, the ship slips on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav'd? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Shaks. Henry IV. Part III.
In despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself a king: Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. Shaks. Henry IV. Part III. They call'd us for our fierceness, English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying ran away. Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lion's stead. Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.
By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake, endeavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion.
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, That we can let our beard be shook with danger And think it pastime. Shaks. Hamlet.
Let us die instant: once more back again;
The man that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go home, and with his cap in hand, Like a base pander hold the chamber door, Whilst, by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminate. A valiant man Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger, But worthily, and by selected ways. He undertakes by reason, not by chance. His valour is the salt t' his virtues, They 're all unseason'd without it.
Ben Jonson's New Inr.
Brave spirits are a balsam to themselves, There is a nobleness of mind, that heals Wounds beyond salves.
Cartwright's Lady Errant. What, though the field be lost, All is not lost; th' ungovernable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome; That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me.
Milton's Paradise Lost Darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all the arch-angel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care Sat on his raded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride, Waiting revenge.
Milton's Paradise Lost. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his pow'r, Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy and shame beneath
Shaks. King John. This downfall.
He's truly valiant that can suffer The worst that man can breathe ;. and make his wrongs
Milton's Paradise Lost But he his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore
His outsides; to wear them like his raiment, care-Semblance of worth not substance, gently rais'd
Their fainting courage, and dispell'd their fears. Milton's Paradise Lost
I should ill become this throne, O peers, And this imperial sov'reignty, adorn'd
With splendour, arm'd with pow'r, if aught propos'd
And judg'd of public moment, in the shape Of difficulty or danger, could deter
Milton's Paradise Lost. Th' undaunted fiend what this might be admir'd, Admir'd, not fear'd; God and his son except, Created thing nought valued he or shunn'd. Milton's Paradise Lost.
Incens'd with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Let fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul, that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more: Fate was not mine, nor am I fate's: Souls know no conquerors.
Be not dismay'd-fear nurses up a danger; And resolution kills it in the birth.
Phillips's Duke of Gloucester True valour, friends, on virtue founded strong, Meets all events alike. Mallet's Mustapha.
The human race are sons of sorrow born; And each must have his portion. Vulgar minds Refuse or cranch beneath their load: the brave Bear theirs without repining.
Mallet and Thomson's Alfred. True valour
Lies in the mind, the never-yielding purpose, Nor owns the blind award of giddy fortune.
Thomson's Coriolanus. But while hope lives,
Let not the generous die. "Tis late before The brave despair.
Is there a man, into the lion's den Who dares intrude to snatch his young away? Thomson's Britannia.
To a mind resolved and wise, There is an impotence in misery,
Dryden's Don Sebastian. Which makes me smile, when all its shafts are
'Tis not now who's stout and bold? But who bears hunger best and cold? And he's approv'd the most deserving, Who longest can hold out at starving; And he that routs most pigs and cows, The formidablest man of prowess. So th' emperor Caligula,
That triumph'd o'er the British sea, Took crabs and oysters prisoners, And lobsters 'stead of cuirassiers ; Engag'd his legions in fierce bustles, With periwinkles, prawns, and mussels, And led his troops with furious gallops, To charge whole regiments of scallops; Not like their ancient way of war, To wait on his triumphal car; But when he went to dine or sup, More bravely ate his captives up, And left all war by his example, Reduc'd to vict❜ling of a camp well.
This is true courage, not the brutal force Of vulgar heroes, but the firm resolve Of virtue and of reason. He who thinks Without their aid to shine in deeds of arms, Builds on a sandy basis his renown, A dream, a vapour, or an ague-fit May make a coward of him.
Whitehead's Roman Father. The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. As for your youth, whom blood and blows delight, Away with them! there is not in their crew One valiant spirit.
Joanna Baillie's Basil. Rocks have been shaken from their solid base; But what shall move a firm and dauntless mind?
Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, Hopes snapp'd, name blighted, life's life lied away?
And only not to desperation driven, Because not altogether of such clay, As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. Byron's Childe Harold.
The torture! you have put me there already, Daily since I was doge; but if you will Add the corporeal rack, you may: these limbs Will yield with age to crushing iron; but There's that within my heart shall strain your Byron's Doge of Venice. Fate made me what I am-may make me no- thing- But either that or nothing must I be; I will not live degraded.
I had a sword—and have a breast That should have won as haught a crest As ever wav'd along the line Of all these sovereign sires of thine.
But still he fac'd the shock,
Obdurate as a portion of the rock
And said "No chains shall sully thee, "Thou soul of love and bravery! "Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery!"
A careless thing, who plac'd his choice in chance, Nurst by the legends of his land's romance; Eager to hope, but not less firm to bear, Acquainted with all feelings, save despair. Byron's Island.
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