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Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
Recollections of the Arabian Nights.
For it was in the golden prime
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
Richelieu. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.
Philip Van Artevelde.
Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.
The world knows nothing of its greatest men.
Act i. Sc. v.
He that lacks time to mourn lacks time to mend.
Act i. Sc. v.
We figure to ourselves
The thing we like, and then we build it up
Act i. Sc. 7.
Whose sudden visitations daze the world,
Wakens the slumbering ages.
PHILLIP JAMES BAILEY.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
THOMAS K. HERVEY.
The Devil's Progress.
The tomb of him who would have made
The world too glad and free.
He stood beside a cottage lone,
And listened to a lute,
One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute!
Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles,
Her suffering ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long, long night away,
But when the sun, in all his state,
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory's morning gate,
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.
Sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
The stormy March has come at last,
With wind and clouds and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snowy valley flies.
But 'neath yon crimson tree,
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Her blush of maiden shame.
The groves were God's first temples.
The Death of the Flowers.
The melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods,
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again :
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
He builded better than he knew.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
Hymn. At the completion of the Concord Monument. Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.