Chapter 17

Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise; His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies. _Moral Essays, Epistle I_. A. POPE.

While Reason drew the plan, the Heart informed The moral page and Fancy lent it grace. _Liberty, Pt. IV_. J. THOMSON.

Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive. _Yes! Thou art fair_. WORDSWORTH.

Cried, "'T is resolved, for Nature pleads that he Should only rule who most resembles me. Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, Mature in dulness from his tender years; Shadwell alone of all my sons is he Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, But Shadwell never deviates into sense. Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through and make a lucid interval; But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray." _Mac Flecknoe_. J. DRYDEN.

MISSIONS.

Onward, ye men of prayer! Scatter in rich exuberance the seed, Whose fruit is living bread, and all your need Will God supply; his harvest ye shall share.

Seek ye the far-off isle; The sullied jewel of the deep, O'er whose remembered beauty angels weep, Restore its lustre and to God give spoil. _Missionaries_. W.B. TAPPAN.

When they reach the land of strangers, And the prospect dark appears, Nothing seen but toils and dangers, Nothing felt but doubts and fears; Be thou with them! Hear their sighs, and count their tears. _Departing Missionaries_. T. KELLY.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, Shall we to men benighted The Lamp of life deny? Salvation! O Salvation! The joyful sound proclaim, Till earth's remotest nation Has learned Messiah's name. _From Greenland's Icy Mountains_. BISHOP R. HEBER.

Blest river of salvation, Pursue thy onward way; Flow thou to every nation, Nor in thy richness stay: Stay not till all the lowly Triumphant reach their home; Stay not till all the holy Proclaim, "The Lord is come!" _Success of the Gospel_. S.F. SMITH.

Nor shall thy spreading gospel rest, Till through the world thy truth has run: Till Christ has all the nations blessed That see the light, or feel the sun. _God's Word and Works_. DR. I. WATTS.

MODERATION.

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words,--health, peace, and competence. Rut health consists with temperance alone. And peace, O Virtue! peace is all thine own. _Essay on Man, Epistle IV_. A. POPE.

These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume.

* * * * *

Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. _Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc_. SHAKESPEARE.

They surfeited with honey; and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. _King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act iii. Sc2_. SHAKESPEARE.

And for my means. I'll husband them so well They shall go far with little. _Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door. _Translation of Horace, Bk. II. Ode X_. W. COWPER.

Take this at least, this last advice, my son: Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on: The coursers of themselves will run too fast, Your art must be to moderate their haste. _Metamorphoses: Phaeton, Bk. II_. OVID. _Trans. of_ ADDISON.

Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest. _King Lear, Act i. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

MOON.

The night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. _The Light of Stars_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

See yonder fire! it is the moon Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, And through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, And makes the heart in love with night. _Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. VI_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon From the slow opening curtains of the clouds; Walking in beauty to her midnight throne! _Diana_. G. CROLY.

The Moon arose: she shone upon the lake, Which lay one smooth expanse of silver light; She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast Upon their hollows and their hidden glens A blacker depth of shade. _Madoc, Pt. II_. R. SOUTHEY.

No rest--no dark. Hour after hour that passionless bright face Climbs up the desolate blue. _Moon-struck_. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread? _Ode to the Moon_. T. HOOD.

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which softened down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 't were anew, the gaps of centuries, Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns. _Manfred, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 4 _(The Coliseum)_. LORD BYRON.

When the moon shone, we did not see the candle; So doth the greater glory dim the less. _Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

The moon looks On many brooks, "The brook can see no moon but this." _While gazing on the moon's light_. T. MOORE.

I see them on their winding way. Above their ranks the moonbeams play.

* * * * *

And waving arms and banners bright Are glancing in the mellow light. _Lines written to a March_. BISHOP R. HEBER.

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they Who called her chaste, methinks, began too soon Their nomenclature; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way. On which three single hours of moonshine smile-- And then she looks so modest all the while! _Don Juan. Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

Faery elves, Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side, Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course. _Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Day glimmered in the east, and the white Moon Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky. _Italy: Lake of Geneva_. S. ROGERS.

MORNING.

But soft! methinks I scent the morning air. _Hamlet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire. _Hamlet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

Look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, roundabout, Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. _Much Ado about Nothing, Act_ v. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Till morning fair Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray. _Paradise Regained, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light. _Romeo and Juliet, Act_ ii. _Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. _The Death of Wallenstein, Act_ i. _Sc_. 1. S.T. COLERIDGE.

Night wanes,--the vapors round the mountains curled Melt into morn, and light awakes the world. _Lara_. LORD BYRON.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. _Romeo and Juliet, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

Night's sun was driving His golden-haired horses up; Over the eastern firths High flashed their manes. _The Longbeard's Saga_. C. KINGSLEY.

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf. _The Morning Comes Before the Sun_. S.C. WOOLSEY (_Susan Coolidge_).

The charm dissolves apace, And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. _Tempest, Act_ v. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

An hour before the worshipped sun Peered forth the golden window of the east. _Romeo and Juliet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,-- And glowing into day. _Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

Hail, gentle dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way, And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend. _The Chase, Bk. II_. W.C. SOMERVILLE.

Morn in the white wake of the morning star Came furrowing all the orient into gold. _The Princess_. A. TENNYSON.

The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews. _The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.

Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet With charms of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew. _Paradise Lost, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

This morning, like the spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes. _Antony and Cleopatra, Act iv. So_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

Morn, Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of light. _Paradise Lost, Bk. VI_. MILTON.

Now morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, When Adam waked, so customed, for his sleep Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred. _Paradise Lost, Bk. V_. MILTON.

At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate. Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre; And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre. _Faërie Queene, Bk. I. Canto V_. E. SPENSER.

But yonder comes the powerful King of Day Rejoicing in the east. _The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.

'Tis always morning somewhere in the world, And Eos rises, circling constantly The varied regions of mankind. No pause Of renovation and of freshening rays She knows. _Orion, Bk. III. Canto III_. R.H. HORNE.

MOTHER.

The only love which, on this teeming earth, Asks no return for passion's wayward birth. _The Dream_. HON. MRS. NORTON.

A mother's love,--how sweet the name! What is a mother's love?-- A noble, pure and tender flame. Enkindled from above. To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold;-- This is a mother's love. _A Mother's Love_. J. MONTGOMERY.

Hath he set bounds between their love and me? I am their mother; who shall bar me from them? _King Richard III., Act iv. Sc_.1. SHAKESPEARE.

The poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. _Macbeth, Act iv. Sc_.2. SHAKESPEARE.

Where yet was ever found a mother Who'd give her booby for another? _Fables: The Mother, the Nurse, and the Fairy_, J. GAY.

Women know The way to rear up children (to be just); They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words: Which things are corals to cut life upon, Although such trifles. _Aurora Leigh, Bk. I_. E.B. BROWNING.

They say that man is mighty. He governs land and sea, He wields a mighty scepter O'er lesser powers that be; But a mightier power and stronger Man from his throne has hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world. _What Rules the World_. W.R. WALLACE.

Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well? My mother. _My Mother_. JANE TAYLOR.

Happy he 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. _The Princess, Canto VII_. A. TENNYSON.

A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive. _The Three Graces_. S.T. COLERIDGE.

MOUNTAIN.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice. _Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Who first beholds those everlasting clouds, Seedtime and harvest, morning, noon, and night, Still where they were, steadfast, immovable; Who first beholds the Alps--that mighty chain

Of mountains, stretching on from east to west, So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal, As to belong rather to heaven than earth-- But instantly receives into his soul A sense, a feeling that he loses not, A something that informs him 'tis a moment Whence he may date henceforward and forever! _Italy_. S. ROGERS.

The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow!-- All that expands the spirit, yet appalls, Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below. _Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. _The Task, Bk. II_. W. COWPER.

Over the hills and far away. _The Beggar's Opera, Act i. Sc_. 1. J. GAY.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. _Manfred, Act i. Sc. 1_. LORD BYRON.

MOURNING.

They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness. _Mirza_. R. BARON.

He mourns the dead who lives as they desire. _Night Thoughts, Night II_. DR. E. YOUNG.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourned till Pity's self be dead. _Dirge in Cymbeline_. W. COLLINS.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,--not dead, but gone before,-- He gathers round him. _Human Life_. S. ROGERS.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. _Macbeth, Act iv. Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. _All's Well that Ends Well, Act v. Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe. And still adore the hand that gives the blow. _Verses to his Friend under Affliction_. J. POMFRET.

My grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul. _King Richard II., Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show! _To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady_. A. POPE.

He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died. _Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife_. SIR H. WOTTON.

Poor Jack, farewell! I could have better spared a better man. _King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act v. Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

So may he rest: his faults lie gently on him! _King Henry VIII, Act iv. Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure For life's worst ills to have no time to feel them.

_Philip Van Artevelde, Pt. I. Act i. Sc_. 5. H. TAYLOR.

The very cypress droops to death-- Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The only constant mourner o'er the dead. _The Giaour_. LORD BYRON.

MURDER.

O blissful God, that art so just and trewe! Lo, howe that thou biwreyest mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that se we day by day. _The Nonnes Preestes Tale_. CHAUCER.

Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes. _The Widow's Tears_. G. CHAPMAN.

Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime. _The Cock and the Fox_. J. DRYDEN.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. _Hamlet, Act ii. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

MUSIC.

God is its author, and not man; he laid The key-note of all harmonies; he planned All perfect combinations, and he made Us so that we could hear and understand. _Music_. J.A.C. BRAINARD.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears: Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. _Don Juan, Canto XV_. LORD BYRON.

With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touched within us, and the heart replies. _The Task, Bk. VI.: Winter Walk at Noon_. W. COWPER.

A velvet flute-note fell down pleasantly, Upon the bosom of that harmony, And sailed and sailed incessantly, As if a petal from a wild-rose blown Had fluttered down upon that pool of tone, And boatwise dropped o' the convex side And floated down the glassy tide And clarified and glorified The solemn spaces where the shadows bide. _The Symphony_. S. LANTER.

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled. _Comus_. MILTON.

Though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. _Measure for Measure, Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.-- That strain again--it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor. _Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Where music dwells Lingering and wandering on, as loath to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. _Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Pt. III_. xliii. W. WORDSWORTH.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rooks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved, And, as with living souls, have been informed By magic numbers and persuasive sound. _The Mourning Bride, Act i. Sc_. 1. W. CONGREVE.

There is a charm, a power, that sways the breast; Bids every passion revel or be still; Inspires with rage, or all our cares dissolves: Can soothe distraction, and almost despair. _Art of Preserving Health_. J. ARMSTRONG.

The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the Master's spell; And feeling hearts--touch them but lightly--pour A thousand melodies unheard before! _Human Life_. S. ROGERS.

Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. _Antony and Cleopatra, Act ii. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

See to their desks Apollo's sons repair, Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! In unison their various tones to tune. Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon; In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, Winds the French-horn, and twangs the tingling harp; Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in, Attunes to order the chaotic din. _Rejected Addresses: The Theatre_. H. AND J. SMITH.

'Tis believed that this harp which I wake now for thee Was a siren of old who sung under the sea. _The Origin of the Harp_. T. MOORE.

And wheresoever, in his rich creation, Sweet music breathes--in wave, or bird, or soul-- 'Tis but the faint and far reverberation Of that great tune to which the planets roll! _Music_. F.S. OSGOOD.

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced; As some vast river of unfailing source, Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, And opened new fountains in the human heart. _Course of Time, Bk. IV_. R. POLLOK.

Music resembles poetry: in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach. _Essay on Criticism_. A. POPE.

NAME.

Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name? _Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMPBELL.

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honor and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations. _King Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc_. 2. SHAKESPEARE.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. _Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. _Douglas, Act ii. Sc_. 1. J. HOME.

And if his name be George. I'll call him Peter; For new-made honor doth forget men's names. _King John, Act i. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

What woful stuff this madrigal would be If some starved hackney sonneteer, or me, But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! _Essay on Criticism, Pt. II_ A. POPE.

'Tis from high life high characters are drawn; A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn. _Moral Essays, Epistle I_. A. POPE.

Oh! Amos Cottle![A] Phoebus! What a name To fill the speaking trump of future fame! _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. LORD BYRON.

[Footnote A: "Mr. Cottle, Amos or Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, once sellers of books they did not write, but now writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair of epics."--THE AUTHOR.]

NATURE.

The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man, who, from the world escaped, In still retreats and flowery solitudes, To nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, through the revolving year. _The Seasons: Autumn_. J. THOMSON.

When that the monthe of May Is comen, and that I hear the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farwel my boke, and my devocion. _Legende of Goode Women: Prologue_. CHAUCER.

To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. _Sonnet XIV_. KEATS.

What more felicitie can fall to creature. Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature! _The Fate of the Butterfly_. E. SPENSER.

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. _Essay on Man, Epistle I_. A. POPE.

In such green palaces the first kings reigned, Slept in their shades, and angels entertained; With such old counsellors they did advise, And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise. _On St. James' Park_. E. WALLER

And recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul. _The Excursion, Bk. IV_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year; How mighty, how majestic are thy works! _The Seasons: Winter_. J. THOMSON.

Every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees. _The Princess, Canto VII_. A. TENNYSON.