Love. Moore.

OH what, while I could hear and see

Such words and looks, was Heaven to me?
Though gross the air on Earth I drew,
'Twas blessed, while she breathed it too;
Though dark the flowers, though dim the sky,
Love lent them Light, while she was nigh.
Love. Burns.

IT warms me, it charms me,

To mention but her Name:
It heats me, it beets me,

And sets me a' on flame!

Love.—Mrs. Tighe.

OH! have you never known the silent charm
That undisturb'd Retirement yields the soul,
Where no intruder might your peace alarm,
And Tenderness have wept without control,
While melting Fondness o'er the bosom stole?
Did Fancy never, in some lonely grove,

Abridge the hours which must in absence roll?
Those pensive Pleasures did you never prove,
Oh, you have never Loved! you know not what is Love!
Love. - Addison.

WHY dost thou frown upon me?

My Blood runs cold, my Heart forgets to heave,
And Life itself goes out at thy displeasure!

Love.. Moore.

'TWAS but for a moment—and yet in that time She crowded th' impressions of many an hour: Her eye had a glow, like the Sun of her clime, Which waked every feeling at once into Flower! Love. - Milton.

SO cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd,
But silently a gentle Tear let fall

From either eye, and wiped them with her hair;
Two other precious drops that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet Remorse
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.

Love. - Dryden.
LOVE is a child that talks in broken Language,
Yet then he speaks most plain.

LOVE, like odorous Zephyr's grateful breath,

Repays the Flower that sweetness which it borrow'd;
Uninjuring, uninjured, Lovers move

In their own sphere of happiness confest,
By mutual Truth avoiding mutual blame.
Love.-Pope.

SHOULD at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his World, I'd scorn them all:
Not Cæsar's Empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me Mistress to the man I love.

Disappointed Love. Washington Irving.

We

THE Love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the grove; graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the worm preying at its heart. find it suddenly withering when it should be most fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping its branches to the earth and shedding leaf by leaf; until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the forest; and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with decay.

Love of Plants. — Claudian.

THE very leaves live but to Love, and throughout the lofty grove the happy trees have their amours: the Palm nodding to the Palm, ratifies their leagues; the Poplar sighs for the Poplar's embrace; and the Platanus hisses its love to the Platanus; the Alder to the Alder.

Love of the World. Clarendon.

THEY take very unprofitable pains who endeavour to persuade men that they are obliged wholly to despise this World and all that is in it, even whilst they themselves live here: God hath not taken all that pains in forming and framing and furnishing and adorning this World, that they who were made by him to live in it should despise it; it will be well enough if they do not love it so immoderately, to prefer it before him who made it.

Elderly Love.- Shakspeare.

I, AN old Turtle,

Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there
My Mate, that's never to be found again,

Lament till I am lost.

THIS royal Throne of Kings, this scepter'd Isle,
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;

This Fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This Happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious Stone set in the Silver Sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this Earth, this Realm, this England,
Dear for her Reputation through the world.

Self-Love.-Shakspeare.

SIN of Self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my Soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my Heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no Truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd Antiquity,
Mine own Self-love quite contrary I read,
Self so Self-loving were Iniquity.

MAN is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the establishment of his early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a woman's whole life is a history of the affections. The heart is her world it is there her ambition strives for empire; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless-for it is a bankruptcy of the heart.

Loyalty.

Cowper.
We love

WE too are friends to Loyalty.

The King who loves the Law; respects his bounds,
And reigns content within them. Him we serve

Freely and with delight, who leaves us free.
But recollecting still that he is Man,
We trust him not too far.

Lust. Milton.

CAPRICIOUS, wanton, bold, and brutal Lust,
Is meanly selfish; when resisted, cruel;
And, like the blast of Pestilential Winds,
Taints the sweet bloom of Nature's fairest forms.
Lust. Spenser.

AS pale and wan as ashes was his looke,
His body leane and meagre as a Rake,
And skin all wither'd like a dryed rooke;
Thereto as cold and drery as a Snake,
That seem'd to tremble evermore and quake.

Lust. — Milton.

BUT when Lust,

By unchaste looks, loose Gestures, and foul talk,
But most by lewd and lavish acts of Sin,
Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The Soul grows clotted by contagion,
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose
The divine Property of her first being.

Lust. Shakspeare.

THE expense of spirit in a waste of Shame
Is Lust in action; and till action, Lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight;
Past Reason hunted; and, no sooner had,
Past Reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof,-and proved, a very wo;

Before, a Joy proposed; behind, a dream: All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the Heaven that leads men to this Hell.

Lust. — Shakspeare.

THE flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace, For there it revels, and when that decays,

The guilty Rebel for remission prays.

Luxury. Shakspeare.
WEARINESS

Can snore upon the Flint, when restive Sloth
Finds the Down pillow hard.

Luxury. Johnson.

SUCH is the Diligence with which, in countries completely civilized, one part of mankind labour for another, that wants are supplied faster than they can be formed, and the Idle and luxurious find Life stagnate for want of some desire to keep it in motion. This species of Distress furnishes a new set of occupations; and multitudes are busied from day to day in finding the Rich and the Fortunate something to do.

Lying. Montaigne.

AFTER a tongue has once got the knack of Lying, 'tis not to be imagined how impossible almost it is to reclaim it. Whence it comes to pass that we see some men, who are otherwise very honest, so subject to this vice.

Lying. Addison.

FALSEHOOD and Fraud grow up in every soil,
The product of all climes.

Lying. From the Latin.

THE first step toward useful Knowledge, is to be able to detect Falsehood.

Lying. Montaigne.

LYING is a hateful and accursed Vice. We are not men, nor have other tie upon one another, but our word. If we did but discover the Horror and consequences of it, we should pursue it with Fire and Sword, and more justly than other Crimes.

Madness.-Byron.

SHE look'd on many a face with vacant Eye,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sate;
Not speechless though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the Grave.

Madness.- Moore.

THIS wretched brain gave way,
And I became a Wreck, at random driven
Without one glimpse of Reason or of Heaven.