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These annotations are fitly supplemented by the articles "AUTHORSHIP" and “CRITICISM" (under which last will be found 170 quotations).
II. “MORNING."-One of the finest compositions in the writings of the late Daniel Webster is a letter on the morning, written to Mrs. J. W. Paige, and dated at Richmond, April 29, five o'clock A.M., 1847. (See Private Correspondence of Daniel Webster, 1857, ii. 240.) “ Beautiful descriptions of the 'morning' abound in all languages. ... Milton has fine descriptions of morning, but not so many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pages of the most beautiful images, all founded on the glory of the morning, might be filled," etc. Under this title 152 extracts, from 38 authors, will be found.
III. “Rivers.”—In his very interesting Recollections of Past Life (1872, chapter ii.), Sir Henry Holland remarks, “ Much more I could say of rivers, as giving to travel the greatest charm of landscape, while affording lessons in geology and physical geography invaluable to science. Even the simple brook, followed step by step to its course, illustrates, in the windings of its channel, its depths and deposits, and the sections which its banks disclose, many of the grandest phenomena and conclusions of geology. In the poetry of every age the flow of river-waters has been a favourite theme,-one symbol of the life and destinies of man.” The reader will find 94 quotations under this head.
“BIRDS" are celebrated in 260 passages by 45 authors; “Law” contains 194, “Love" 565, “Politics” 157,
" SLEEP" 242, “WOMAN” 291, and “YOUTH" 227 quotations. In the whole (as stated on the title-page) 435 subjects are illustrated, by 550 authors, in 13,600 quotations, which may be read in course, or consulted separately, as occasion serves.
S. AUSTIN ALLIBONE. PHILADELPHIA, February 8, 1873.
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell’d, fondly turns to thee: Since she must go, and I must mourn, come
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, night,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. Environ me with darkness whilst I write.
GOLDSMITH: Traveller. DONNE.
Short absence hurt him more, Winds murmur'd through the leaves your short And made his wound far greater than before; delay,
Absence not long enough to root out quite And fountains o'er their pebbles chid your all love, increases love at second sight. stay:
THOMAS MAY: Henry II. But, with your presence cheer'd, they cease to
Short retirement urges sweet return. mourn,
MILTON. And walks wear fresher green at your return.
Oh! couldst thou but know
With what a deep devotedness of woe She vows for his return with vain devotion
I wept thy absence, o'er and o'er again pays.
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew
pain, Forced from her presence, and condemn'd to And memory, like a drop that night and day live!
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away! L'n welcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve.
MOORE: Lalla Rookh. DRYDEN.
Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring; Love reckons hours for months, and days for Ye birds that, lest by summer, cease to sing, years;
Ye trees that fade, when autumn heats remove, And every little absence is an age.
Say, is not absence death to those who love?
PoPE. . DRYDEN: Amphytrion.
As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain,
Thus far from Delia to the winds I mourn, For what advice can ease a lover's pain?
Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Pope. Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind.
Fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine;
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love;
ACTORS. At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove;
One tragic sentence if I dare deride, But Delia always; absent from her sight,
Which Betterton's grave action dignified; Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphasis proPOPE: Pastorals.
claims, In vain you tell your parting lover
Though but perhaps a muster-roll of names.
PoPE. . You wish fair winds may wast him over: Alas! what winds can happy prove,
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage wann'd? I charge thee loiter not, but haste to bless me:
SHAKSPEARE. Think with what eager hopes, what rage, I burn, For every tedious moment how I mourn: Think how I call thee cruel for thy stay,
ADVERSITY. And break my heart with grief for thy delay.
The gods in bounty work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert What! keep a week away? seven days and
Their hidden strength, and throw out into prac
tice nights? Eightscore eight hours? and lovers' absent Virtues which shun the day.
Must burn before its surface shine;
But plunged within the furnace flame,
It bends and melts—though still the same. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
BYRON: Giaour. Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
By adversity are wrought And leave no memory of what it was !
The greatest works of admiration, Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia ;
And all the fair examples of renown
Out of distress and misery are grown.
DANIEL: On the Earl of Southampton.
Some souls we see
Grow hard and stiffen with adversity.
DRYDEN, Some friendly intervals, to visit thee. SOUTHERN: Spartan Dame. Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow; Looking my love, I go from place to place, But, crush'd or trodden to the ground, Like a young fawn that late hath lost the Diffuse their balmy sweets around. hind;
GOLDSMITH. And seek each where, where last I saw her face, Whose image yet I carry fresh in mind.
By how much from the top of wond'rous glory, SPENSER.
Strongest of mortal men,
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall’n. Since I did leave the presence of my love,
MILTON. Many long weary days I have out-worn, And many nights that slowly seem'd to move
The scene of beauty and delight is changed: Their sad protract from evening until morn.
No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,
No laughing graces wanton in my eyes;
But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care, For since mine eye your joyous sight did miss, And pining Discontent, a rueful train, My cheerful day is turn'd to cheerless night. Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn. SPENSER