Part 4

42. A light, busy foot astir In her small housewifery, the blithest bee That ever wrought in hive.

MITFORD.

43. Practised to lisp and hang the head aside, Faint into airs, and languish into pride.

POPE.

44. She is ever fair, and never proud, Hath tongue at will, and yet is never loud.

_Othello._

45. I call her richly blest, In the calm meekness of her woman's breast, Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies; And for her household love, which clings Unto all ancient and familiar things, Weaving from each some link for home's dear charities.

HEMANS.

46. She's peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona._

47. No simplest duty is forgot; Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her sunshine share.

J. R. LOWELL.

48. Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprizing what they look on;--and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak.

_Much Ado About Nothing._

49. With despatchful looks She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent, What choice to choose for delicacy best, What order so contrived as not to mix Tastes not well join'd, inelegant, but bring Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change.

MILTON.

50. None so gay as she; Up hill and down, morning, and noon, and night, Singing or talking; singing to herself When none give ear.

ROGERS--_Italy._

51. The green And growing leaves of seventeen Are round her;--and half hid, half seen, A violet flower; Nursed by the virtues she hath been From childhood's hour.

HALLECK.

52. Blest with temper whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day: Spleen, vapors, or small-pox, above them all, And mistress of herself though china fall.

POPE--_Characters of Women._

53. Seldom she speaks, but she will listen With all the signs of soul; Her cheek will change, her eye will glisten, As waves of feeling roll.

DR. GILMAN.

54. She bears a purse; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty.

_Merry Wives of Windsor._

55. You are as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona._

56. Oh, she is a golden girl, But a man--a _man_ should woo her! They who seek her shrink aback, When they should like storms pursue her.

BARRY CORNWALL.

57. She is soft as the dew-drops that fall From the lip of the sweet-scented pea; Perhaps when she smiled upon all, Thou hast thought that she smiled upon thee.

MACKENZIE--_Man of Feeling._

58. She is the cause of six matches being broken off, and three sons disinherited.

SHERIDAN.

59. All her strain Is of domestic gladness, fire-side bliss, And household rule; nor thought loose, light, or vain, Stains her pure vision of meek happiness.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

60. She loves, but 'tis not you she loves, Not you on whom she ponders, When in some dream of tenderness Her truant fancy wanders. The forms that flit her vision through, Are like the shapes of old, Where tales of Prince and Paladin On tapestry are told. Man may not hope her heart to win, Be his of common mould.

C. F. HOFFMAN.

WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?

Something that may serve to set in view The doings, observations which his mind Had dealt with--I will here record in verse.

WORDSWORTH.

WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?

1. Of manners gentle, of affections mild, In wit a man, simplicity a child.

POPE.

2. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he's a man good enough; he's one of the soundest judgments, and a proper man of person.

_Troilus and Cressida._

3. Love, fame, and glory, with alternate sway Thrill his warm heart, and with electric ray Illume his eye; yet still a shade of care, Like a light cloud that floats in summer air, Will shed at times a transitory gloom, But shadow not one grace of manly bloom.

MRS. K. WARE.

4. He wounds no breast with jeer and jest, yet bears no honey'd tongue, He's social with the gray-hair'd one, and merry with the young.

ELIZA COOK.

5. A shallow brain behind a serious mask, An oracle within an empty cask; He says but little, and that little said Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.

COWPER--_Conversation._

6. Fearless he is, and scorning all disguise; What he dares do, or think, though men may start, He speaks with mild, yet unaverted eyes.

SHELLEY.

7. A lofty spirit his, and somewhat proud; Little gallant, and has a sort of cloud Hanging forever on his cold address.

LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini._

8. He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, Swears brave oaths, and breaks them as bravely

_As You Like It._

9. In truth he is a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene; In darkness and in storm he finds delight, Nor less than when on ocean's wave serene The southern sun displays his dazzling sheen.

BEATTIE--_Minstrel._

10. There is in him so much man, so much goodness, So much of honor, and of all things else Which make our being excellent, that from his store He can enough lend others.

MASSINGER.

11. He draweth out the staple of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.

_Love's Labour Lost._

12. His words are strong, but not with anger fraught, A lore benignant he hath lived and taught; To draw mankind to heaven by gentleness And good example is his business.

CHAUCER.

13. The monarch-mind, the mystery of commanding, The god-like power, the art Napoleon Of winning, fettering, moulding, wielding, banding The hearts of millions, till they move as one.

HALLECK.

14. Devout, yet cheerful; pious, not austere; To others lenient, to himself severe.

DR. HARVEY.

15. With scrupulous care exact, he walks the rounds Of fashionable duty; laughs when sad, When merry weeps, deceiving is deceived, And flattering, flatter'd.

POLLOK.

16. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

_Hamlet._

17. Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow; Who knows the man can never cease to know.

CRABBE.

18. Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun, To relish a joke, and rejoice in a pun!

GOLDSMITH.

19. He is a man Among a thousand. Unassuming, he May yet assume unquestion'd. Gentleness, And a strange strength, a calm o'erruling strength, Are mix'd within him so, that neither take Possession from the other,--neither rise In mastery or passion, but both grow Harmoniously together.

W. G. SIMMS.

20. For beauty and fortin' the laddie's been courtin', Weel featured, weel tochered, weel mounted and braw!

BURNS.

21. He will pick a quarrel for a straw, And fight it out to the extremity.

CHARLES LAMB.

22. He cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and coy, Duck with French nods, and apish courtesy.

_Richard III._

23. A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose is to him, And it is nothing more.

WORDSWORTH.

24. His young bosom feels the enchantment strong Of light, and joy, and minstrelsy and song.

PIERPONT--_Airs of Palestine._

25. If he has any faults he leaves us in doubt, At least in six weeks we can't find them out.

GOLDSMITH.

26. The friend of man, the friend of truth, The friend of age, the guide of youth; Few hearts like his with virtue warm'd, Few heads with knowledge so inform'd.

BURNS.

27. If his body were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of his anatomy.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona._

28. He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, You never can please him, do a' that you can; He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows.

BURNS.

29. An ample soul, Rockbound and fortified against assaults Of transitory passion, but below Built on a surging, subterraneous fire, That stirs and lifts him up to high attempts.

TAYLOR.

30. His very manners teach to amend, They are so even, grave and holy; No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly To license ever was so light, As twice to trespass in his sight; His look would so correct it when It chid the vice, yet not the men.

BEN JONSON.

31. He thinks, That he who fights and runs away May live to fight another day.

BUTLER--_Hudibras._

32. He keeps his honesty and truth, His independent tongue and pen, And moves in manhood, as in youth, Pride of his fellow-men.

HALLECK.

33. His life doth flow From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of ill May hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them.

TALFOURD--_Ion._

34. He is too costly for every day, You would want another for working days.

_Much Ado About Nothing._

35. Strange, that his nobly fashion'd mould, In which a very god might dwell, Should only live to dig for gold, And perish in its narrow cell!

BOWRING.

36. He has no party rage, no sectary's whim; Christian and countryman is all with him.

CRABBE.

37. Valiant he as fire, Showing danger more than ire. Bounteous as the clouds to earth, And as honest as his birth; All his actions they are such As to do no thing too much; Nor o'erpraise, nor yet condemn, Nor outvalue, nor contemn, Nor do wrongs nor wrongs receive, Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave. From all baseness to be free, As he durst love truth and thee.

BEN JONSON.

38. He snuffs far off the anticipated joy, Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ.

COWPER.

39. In his strength The mighty oak has likeness; gentleness In him is like the rosy parasite, The flush Spring gives it wrapping it around With sweetest color and adorning grace. His soul, refined beyond the rustic world, Has yet no city vices. He has kept Its whiteness unprofaned.

W. G. SIMMS.

40. He'll never learn his bark to steer 'Mid passion's sudden, wild career, Nor try at times to tack and veer To interest's gale, But hoist the sheet, unawed by fear Though storms prevail.

HECTOR MACNEIL.

41. A fair example of his own pure creed, Patient of error, pitiful to need, Persuasive wisdom in his thoughtful mien.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

42. One of that stubborn sort he is, Who if they once grow fond of an opinion, They call it honor, honesty, and faith, And sooner part with life than let it go.

ROWE--_Jane Shore._

43. Virtue's his path, but sometimes 'tis too narrow For his vast soul, and then he starts wide out, And bounds into a vice that bears him far From his first course, and plunges him in ills.

DRYDEN--_All for Love._

44. A man whom storms can never make Meanly complain, nor can a flattering gale Make him talk proudly.

DR. WATTS.

45. He'll prattle shrewdly with such witty folly, As almost betters reason.

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

46. Heed not, though at times he seem Dark and still, and cold as clay; He is shadow'd by his dream, But 'twill pass away.

BARRY CORNWALL.

47. He quick is anger'd, and as quick His short-lived passion's over-past, Like summer lightnings, flashing thick, But flying ere a bolt is cast.

E. D. GRIFFIN.

48. Oh, he's as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife, Worse than a smoky house.

_Henry IV._

49. Love, the germ Of his mild nature, hath spread graces forth, Expanding with its progress; as the store Of rainbow color, which the seed conceals, Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury To flush and circle in the flower.

TALFOURD--_Ion._

50. He is----but what need I say that or this, I'd spend a month to tell ye what he is!

RAMSAY--_Gentle Shepherd._

51. With maids he's softer than the clouds in May; But had you seen him, lady, in his ire, When, like one born of thunder, he did march And strike down men as stubble sinks in fire-- But then he hath a tongue could wile The laverock from the cloud.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

52. Within his soul Springs up a deep sense of the beautiful, The holy, the exalted, and a love Embracing in its circle all creation.

LADY FLORA HASTINGS.

53. He so light is at legerdemain, That what he touches comes not to light again.

SPENSER.

54. Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and humanely severe.

POPE.

55. To express his mind to sense, Would ask a heaven's intelligence, Since nothing can report that flame But what's of kin to whence it came.

BEN JONSON.

56. A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, That holds his precious self his dear delight, And loves his own smart shadow in the street.

BURNS.

57. No caprice of mind, No passing influence of idle time, No popular show, no clamor from the crowd Can move him, erring, from the path of right.

W. G. SIMMS.

58. Wasting his life for his country's care, Laying it down with a patriot's prayer.

BARRY CORNWALL.

59. A man whose sober soul can tell How to wear her garments well, Her garments that upon her sit As garments should do, close and fit; A well-clothed soul, that's not oppress'd Nor choked with what she should be dress'd; A soul sheath'd in a crystal shrine, Through which all her bright features shine.

CRASHAW.

60. And still we gaze, and still the wonder grows, That one small head can carry all he knows.

GOLDSMITH--_Deserted Village_.

WHAT SEASON OF THE YEAR DO YOU LOVE?

January gray is here, Like a sexton by a grave; February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps; but oh, ye hours, Follow with May's fairest flowers.

SHELLEY.

The seasons of the year, ----some arm'd in silver ice that glisten, And some in gaudy green, come in like masquers.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

WHAT SEASON OF THE YEAR DO YOU LOVE?

1. The bold _March_ wind! The merry, boisterous, bold March wind! Who in the violet's tender eyes Casts a kiss,--and forward flies.

BARRY CORNWALL.

2. The beautiful spirit of _Spring_, When the demons of Winter before her fly, While the gentle fan of her delicate wing Repels the ardor of Summer's eye.

JAMES NACK.

3. Thou lovest the merry _Summer_ months of beauty, song, and flowers, Thou lovest the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers! Up, up, thy heart, and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside, Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide, Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree, Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.

MOTHERWELL.

4. The _eventide of Summer_, when the trees Yield their fresh honors to the passing breeze, And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed; When the mild sun his paling lustre shrouds In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds.

MRS. E. C. EMBURY.

5. When on the breath of _Autumn_ breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair white thistle-down.

MARY HOWITT.

6. A day of _Winter_ beauty. Through the night The hoar-frost gather'd o'er each leaf and spray, Weaving its filmy net-work, thin and bright, And shimmering like silver in the ray Of the soft sunny morning;--turf and tree Prank'd in delicate embroidery, And every wither'd stump and mossy stone With gems encrusted and with seed-pearls sown!

MRS. WHITMAN.

7. When _May_, With her cap crown'd with roses, Stands in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet Murmur gladness and peace, God's peace! with lips rosy tinted, Whisper the race of the flowers, and merry, on balancing branches, Birds are singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.

LONGFELLOW.

8. _Autumn eventide_; When sinking on the blue hill's breast, the sun Spreads the large bounty of his level blaze, Lengthening the shade of mountains and tall trees.

GEORGE LUNT.

9. When on a keen _December_ night, Jack Frost Drives through mid air his chariot icy-wheel'd, And from the sky's crisp ceiling, star-emboss'd, Whiffs off the clouds that the pure blue concealed.

TENNENT--_Anster Fair_.

10. When _Spring_, advancing, calls her feather'd quire, And tunes to softer notes her laughing lyre; Musk'd in the rose's lap fresh dews are shed, And breathe celestial lustres round her head.

DARWIN.

11. _June_ with its roses,----June! The gladdest month of the capricious year, With its thick foliage, and its sunlight clear, And with a drowsy tune Of the bright leaping waters, as they pass Laughingly on, amid the springing grass!

W. H. BURLEIGH.

12. When _Autumn_, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside, a-weary.

LONGFELLOW.

13. _Winter_, shod with fleecy snow, Who cometh _white_, and _cold_, and _mute_, Lest he should wake the Spring below.

BARRY CORNWALL.

14. When the south wind in _May_ days, With a net of shining haze, Silvers the horizon wall; And with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing gentle heats, Turns the sod to violets.

R. W. EMERSON.

15. When _Spring's_ unfolded blooms Exhale in sweetness, that the skilful bee May taste, at will, from their selected spoils, To work her dulcet sweet.

AKENSIDE--_Pleasures of the Imagination_.

16. The joyous _Winter_ days, When sits the soul intense, collected, cool, Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.

THOMSON.

17. The _Spring_, as she passes along With her eye of light, and her lip of song.

W. G. CLARK.

18. _October!_ Heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek sun grows brief, And the year smiles, as drawing near its death.

W. C. BRYANT.

19. The _April_ rain! the _April_ rain! To list the pleasant sound, Now soft and still like gentle dew, Now drenching all the ground. Pray tell me why an April shower Is pleasanter to see, Than falling drops of other rain? I'm sure it is to thee.

MRS. SEBA SMITH.

20. _Spring_, when from yon blue-topp'd mountain She leaves her green print 'neath each spreading tree, Her tuneful voice beside the swelling fountain Giving sweet notes to its wild melody.

JULIA H. SCOTT.

21. A season _atween June and May_, Half prankt with Spring, with summer half embrown'd.

THOMSON--_Castle of Indolence_.

22. When comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill; The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood, and by the stream no more.

W. C. BRYANT.

23. Brave _Winter_ and thou shalt ever agree, Though a stern and frowning gaffer is he; You like to hear him, with hail and rain, Come tapping against the window pane; You joy to see him come marching forth, Begirt with the icicle gems of the north; But you like him best when he comes bedight In his velvet robes of stainless white.

ELIZA COOK.

24. When "adieu!" father Winter has sadly said To the world, when about withdrawing, With his old white wig half off his head, And his icicle fingers _thawing_!

MISS H. F. GOULD.

25. Gentle _May_, She with her robe of flowers; She with her sun and sky, her clouds and showers! Who bringeth forth unto the eye of day, From their imprisoning and mysterious night, The buds of many hues, the children of her light.

J. LAWRENCE, JR.

26. The last days of _Autumn_, when the corn Lies sweet and mellow in the harvest-field, And the gay company of reapers bind The bearded wheat in sheaves.

I. MCLELLAN.

27. Drear _Winter!_ With no unholy awe we hear thy voice, As by our dying embers, safely housed, We in deep silence muse.

H. K. WHITE.

28. You love to go in the capricious days Of _April_, and hunt violets, when the rain Is in their blue cups, trembling as they nod So gracefully, to kisses of the wind.

N. P. WILLIS.

29. Merry, ever merry May! Made of sun-gleams, shades, and showers, Bursting buds, and breathing flowers; Dripping-lock'd, and rosy-vested, Violet-slipper'd, rainbow-crested, Girdled with the eglantine, Festoon'd with the flowering vine!

GALLAGHER.

30. When the warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year, On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying.

SHELLEY.

31. When the angel of dread _Winter_ cometh, But not in anger. As he speeds along, Borne on the chilling wind, he bids appear A thousand varied hues the trees among! What magic beauty doth his presence fling Round every leaf that quivers in the dell, Or shrub that to the mountain side doth cling! And the bright scene the calm lake mirrors well, As if within its depths were wove some golden spell.

H. F. HARRINGTON.

32. Delicious Spring! Nursed in the lap of thin and subtle showers, Which fall from clouds that lift their snowy wing From odorous buds of light-enfolded flowers, And from enmassed bowers, That over grassy walks their greenness fling.

ALBERT PIKE.