Chapter 11

Such a numerous host Fled not in silence through the frighted deep, With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded. _Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. _King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe. _King Richard II., Act in. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Fear Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face. _The Princess, IV_. A. TENNYSON.

Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature. Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings. _Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

LADY MACBETH. Letting _I dare not_ wait upon _I would_ Like the poor cat i' the adage. MACBETH. Prythee. peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none. _Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. _Verses written on a Window in Scotland_. A. HILL.

Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall. _Written on a Window Pane_. SIR W. RALEIGH.

If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all. _Written under the Above_. QUEEN ELIZABETH.

FEELING.

Sweet sensibility! thou keen delight! Unprompted moral! sudden sense of right! _Sensibility_. H. MORE.

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. _Evangeline, Pt. II. Sc. 2_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

'Twere vain to tell thee all I feel, Or say for thee I'd die. _'Twere Vain to Tell_. J.A. WADE.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,--comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable. _Luria, Act v_. R. BROWNING.

Great thoughts, great feelings came to them, Like instincts, unawares. _The Men of Old_. R.M. MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON.

FIDELITY.

True as the needle to the pole, Or as the dial to the sun. _Song_. B. BOOTH.

But faithfulness can feed on suffering, And knows no disappointment. _Spanish Gypsy, Bk. III_. GEORGE ELIOT.

To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true. _Rules and Lessons_. H. VAUGHAN.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honor clear; Who broke no promise, served no private end, Who gained no title, and who lost no friend. _Epistle to Mr. Addison_. A. POPE.

FISH.

O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles? _Sonnets: The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit_. L. HUNT.

Our plenteous streams a various race supply. The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes rolled, The yellow carp, in scales bedropped with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains. _Windsor Forest_. A. POPE.

FLATTERY.

No adulation; 'tis the death of virtue; Who flatters, is of all mankind the lowest Save he who courts the flattery. _Daniel_. H. MORE.

O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! _Timon of Athens, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

They do abuse the king that flatter him: For flattery is the bellows blows up sin. _Pericles, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery? _Henry V., Act iv. Sc 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

But flattery never seems absurd; The flattered always take your word: Impossibilities seem just; They take the strongest praise on trust. Hyperboles, though ne'er so great, Will still come short of self-conceit. _The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody_. J. GAY.

'Tis an old maxim in the schools, That flattery's the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit. _Cadenus and Vanessa_. J. SWIFT.

He loves to hear That unicorns may be betrayed with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils, and men with flatterers. But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. _Julius Cæsar, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Ne'er Was flattery lost on Poet's ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile. _Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Why should the poor be flattered? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. _Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for 's power to thunder. _Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

FLOWERS.

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd. _Faërie Queene, Bk. II. Canto VI_. E. SPENSER.

"Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:" And since, methinks. I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. _King Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true: Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. _Field Flowers_. T. CAMPBELL.

Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. _Scene on the Banks of the Hudson_. W.C. BRYANT.

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but sticketh here; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill. _Amoretti, Sonnet XXVI_. E. SPENSER.

And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. _Lines written in Early Spring_. W. WORDSWORTH.

SPRING.

Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold, Through the brown mould Although the March breezes blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay in many a place. _Daffy-Down-Dilly_. A.B. WARNER.

Darlings of the forest! Blossoming alone When Earth's grief is sorest For her jewels gone-- Ere the last snowdrift melts, your tender buds have blown. _Trailing Arbutus_. R.T. COOKE.

Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm-tree for our king! _Wishing: A Child's Song_. W. ALLINGHAM.

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Whose modest form, so delicately fine, Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds. Thee when young spring first questioned winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on his bank he threw To mark his victory. _To an Early Primrose_. H.K. WHITE.

O Proserpina! For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall From Dis's wagon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength. _The Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn. _My Nannie's Awa'_. R. BURNS.

A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him. And it was nothing more. _Peter Bell_. W. WORDSWORTH.

The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth, And they first feel the sun: so violets blue; So the soft star-like primrose--drenched in dew-- The happiest of Spring's happy, fragrant birth. _Spring Showers_. J. KEBLE.

Primrose-eyes each morning ope In their cool, deep beds of grass; Violets make the air that pass Tell-tales of their fragrant slope. _Home and Travel: Ariel in the Cloven Pine_. B. TAYLOR.

A spring upon whose brink the anemones And hooded violets and shrinking ferns And tremulous woodland things crowd unafraid, Sure of the refreshing that they always find. _Unvisited_. M.J. PRESTON.

The modest, lowly violet, In leaves of tender green is set; So rich she cannot hide from view, But covers all the bank with blue. _Spring Scatters Far and Wide_. D.R. GOODALE.

Oh! faint delicious spring-time violet, Thine odor like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free. _The Violet_. W.W. STORY.

In kindly showers and sunshine bud The branches of the dull gray wood; Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks The blue eye of the violet looks. _Mogg Megone, Pt. III_. J.G. WHITTIER.

Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear, The pink waxen blossoms are waking, I hear; We'll gather an armful of fragrant wild cheer. Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear, Come for arbutus, my dear. _Come for Arbutus_. S.L. OBERHOLTZER.

A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky. _Lucy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Of all the months that fill the year, Give April's month to me, For earth and sky are then so filled With sweet variety.

The apple blossoms' shower of pearl, Though blent with rosier hue, As beautiful as woman's blush, As evanescent too. _Apple Blossoms_. L.E. LANDON.

And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine, And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine. _Spring_. C. THAXTER.

SUMMER.

Ah! Bring childhood's flower! The half-blown daisy bring. _Flowers for the Heart_. J. ELLIOTT.

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. _A Field Flower_. J. MONTGOMERY.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted. _To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love. _Poems composed in the Summer of_1833. W. WORDSWORTH.

With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet daisy! oft I talk to thee. For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee! _To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. _I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill_. J. KEATS.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower. _Home Thoughts from Abroad_. R. BROWNING.

The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew. _Centennial Poem_. J.C.R. DORR.

We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses, Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn; Little tents of odor, where the bee reposes, Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon. _The New Pastoral, Bk. VII_. T.B. READ.

The amorous odors of the moveless air,-- Jasmine and tuberose and gillyflower, Carnation, heliotrope, and purpling shower Of Persian roses. _The Picture of St. John, Bk. II_. B. TAYLOR.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed. _King Henry VI., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorne and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale, and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Grouped their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain. _The Lady of the Lake, Canto I_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine, All these pretty names are mine, And scent in every leaf is mine, And a leaf for all is mine, And the scent--Oh, that's divine! Happy-sweet and pungent fine, Pure as dew, and picked as wine. _Songs and Chorus of the Flowers_. L. HUNT.

Roses red and violets blew And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew. _Faërie Queene, Bk. III. Canto VI_. E. SPENSER.

Oh! roses and lilies are fair to see; But the wild bluebell is the flower for me. _The Bluebell_. L.A. MEREDITH.

And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night. _A Red Rose_. J.C.R. DORR.

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen, Through their pavilions of tender green. _The Sensitive Plant_. P.B. SHELLEY.

A pure, cool lily, bending Near the rose all flushed and warm. _Guonare_. E.L. SPROAT.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember:--and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. _Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

Of all the bonny buds that blow In bright or cloudy weather, Of all the flowers that come and go The whole twelve moons together, The little purple pansy brings Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things. _Heart's Ease_. M.E. BRADLEY.

I send thee pansies while the year is young, Yellow as sunshine, purple as the night: Flowers of remembrance, ever fondly sung By all the chiefest of the Sons of Light;

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Take all the sweetness of a gift unsought, And for the pansies send me back a thought. _Pansies_. S. DOWDNEY.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. _Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1_.. SHAKESPEARE.

Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, That grace my gloomy solitude, I teach in winding wreaths to stray Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. _Retirement_. T. WARTON.

AUTUMN.

The purple asters bloom in crowds In every shady nook, And ladies' eardrops deck the banks Of many a babbling brook. _Autumn_. E.G. EASTMAN.

Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold, Waving lonely on the rocky ledge; Leaning seaward, lovely to behold, Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge. _Seaside Goldenrod_. C. THAXTER.

The aster greets us as we pass With her faint smile. _A Day of Indian Summer_. S.H.P. WHITMAN.

Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk The hoar plume of the golden-rod. And on a ground of sombre fir, And azure-studded juniper, The silver birch its buds of purple shows, And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose! _Last Walk in Autumn_. J.G. WHITTIER.

FOOL.

The right to be a cussed fool Is safe from all devices human, It's common (ez a gin'l rule) To every critter born of woman. _The Biglow Papers, Second Series, No. 7_. J.R. LOWELL.

No creature smarts so little as a fool. _Prologue to Satires_. A. POPE.

The fool hath planted in his memory An army of good words; and I do know A many fools, that stand in better place, Garnished like him, that for a tricksy word Defy the matter. _Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

A limbo large and broad, since called The Paradise of fools, to few unknown. _Paradise Lost, Bk. III_. MILTON.

Who are a little wise the best fools be. _The Triple Fool_. J. DONNE.

For fools rush in where angels fear to tread. _Essay on Criticism, Pt. III_. A. POPE.

In idle wishes fools supinely stay; Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way. _The Birth of Flattery_. G. CRABBE.

This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit. _Twelfth Night, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Some positive, persisting fools we know, Who, if once wrong, will need be always so; But you with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last. _Essay on Criticism, Pt. III_. A. POPE.

FORGET.

Good to forgive: Best to forget. _La Saisiaz: Prologue_. R. BROWNING.

We bury love, Forgetfulness grows over it like grass; That is a thing to weep for, not the dead. _A Boy's Poem_. A. SMITH.

Go, forget me--why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me--and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile--though I shall not be near thee; Sing--though I shall never hear thee. _Song: Go, Forget Me_! C. WOLFE.

Forgotten? No, we never do forget: We let the years go; wash them clean with tears. Leave them to bleach out in the open day Or lock them careful by, like dead friends' clothes, Till we shall dare unfold them without pain,-- But we forget not, never can forget. _A Flower of a Day_. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.

FORGIVE.

Good nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human, to forgive divine. _Essay on Criticism, Pt. I_. A. POPE.

Forgiveness to the injured does belong; But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong. _Conquest of Granada, Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 2_. J. DRYDEN.

Thou whom avenging powers obey, Cancel my debt (too great to pay) Before the sad accounting day. _On the Day of Judgment_. W. DILLON.

Some write their wrongs in marble: he, more just, Stooped down serene and wrote them in the dust, Trod under foot, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind. There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie, And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty eye. _Boulter's Monuments_. S. MADDEN.

The more we know, the better we forgive; Who'er feels deeply, feels for all who live. _Corinne_. MADAME DE STAËL.

FORTUNE.

Fortune, men say, doth give too much to many, But yet she never gave enough to any. _Epigrams_. SIR J. HARRINGTON.

Are there not, dear Michal, Two points in the adventure of the diver, One--when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge? One--when, a prince, he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge. _Paracelsus_. R. BROWNING.

When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. _King John, Act iii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade: The cobbler aproned, and the parson gowned, The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned. _Essay on Man, Epistle IV_. A. POPE.

Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind. _Second Book of Horace, Satire II_. A. POPE.

Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach, and no food-- Such are the poor in health: or else a feast, And takes away the stomach--such are the rich, That have abundance and enjoy it not. _K. Henry IV., Pt. II. Act iv. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Under heaven's high cope Fortune is god--all you endure and do Depends on circumstance as much as you. _Epigrams. From the Greek_. P.B. SHELLEY.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. _Julius Caesar, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear; As seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near. _White Devil, Act v. Sc_. 6. J. WEBSTER.

Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines. _Night Thoughts, Night V_. DR. E. YOUNG.

I have set my life up on a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die. _King Richard III., Act v. Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Blessed are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger, To sound what stop she please. _Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out. _King Henry V., Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

FREEDOM.

Who cometh over the hills, Her garment with morning sweet, The dance of a thousand rills Making music before her feet? Her presence freshens the air, Sunshine steals light from her face. The leaden footstep of Care Leaps to the tune of her pace, Fairness of all that is fair, Grace at the heart of all grace! Sweetener of hut and of hall, Bringer of life put of naught, Freedom, O, fairest of all The daughters of Time and Thought! _Ode to Freedom: Centennial Anniversary of the Battle of Concord, April_ 19, 1875. J.R. LOWELL.

Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights: She heard the torrents meet.

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Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears. _Of old sat Freedom on the heights_. A. TENNYSON.

No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.

* * * * *

Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call A blessing--Freedom is the pledge of all. _Table Talk_. W. COWPER.

A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. _Cato, Act ii. Sc_. 1. J. ADDISON.

The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven. _Polamon and Arcite, Bk. II_. J. DRYDEN.

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it. _The Task, Bk. V_. W. COWPER.

I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please. _As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, And still revolt when truth would set them free. License they mean, when they cry Liberty; For who loves that must first be wise and good. _On the Detraction which followed upon my writing Certain Treatises, II_. MILTON.

The traitor to Humanity is the traitor most accursed; Man is more than Constitutions; better rot beneath the sod, Than be true to Church and State while we are doubly false to God. _On the Capture of Certain Fugitive Slaves near Washington_. J.R. LOWELL.

The sword may pierce the beaver, Stone walls in time may sever; 'T is mind alone, Worth steel and stone, That keeps men free forever. _O, the sight entrancing_. T. MOORE.

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race? _The Ages_. W.C. BRYANT.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm _against_ the wind. _Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

Freedom needs all her poets; it is they Who give her aspirations wings, And to the wiser law of music sway Her wild imaginings. _To the Memory of Hood_. J.R. LOWELL.

Free soil, free men, free speech, free press, Fremont and victory! _Chorus: Republican Campaign Song_, 1856. R.R. RAYMOND.

FRIENDSHIP.