MISERY - SORROW. Better 409 Die soon, than live on lingeringly in pain. BYRON'S Two Foscari. O'er every feature of that still pale face, Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase. My life is not dated by years BYRON'S Corsair. There are moments which act as a plough, And there is not a furrow appears, But is deep in my soul as my brow The quivering flesh, though torture-torn, may live; BYRON. But souls, once deeply wounded, heal no more. ELLIOT. No-pleasures, hopes, affections gone, MOORE'S Lalla Rookh The path of sorrow, and that path alone, A malady Preys on my heart, that medicine cannot reach, Invisible and cureless. COWPER. MATURIN'S Bertram BAILEY'S Festus. He who has most of heart knows most of sorrow. 410 MISFORTUNE - MOB-RABBLE. Sorrow treads heavily, and leaves behind A deep impression, even when she departs; MRS. E. C. EMBURY Oh, woe, deep woe, to earthly love's fond trust, It breathes no sign, it sheds no tear, MRS. E. C. EMBURY. You've seen the lightning-flash at night SHERIDAN. J. G. WHITTIER. MISFORTUNE. — (See ADVERSITY.) MOB-RABBLE. They praise and they admire they know not what. To live upon their tongues, and be their talk, MILTON'S Paradise Regained The rude reproaches of the rascal herd, THOMSON. MODESTY - MONEY. The scum 411 That rises upmost, when the nation boils. Some popular chief, More noisy than the rest, but cries halloo, Their feet through faithless leather meet the dirt, And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, DRYDEN. DRYDEN. YOUNG. SCOTT's Rokeby. 412 MOON-STARS-SUN. MOON-STARS-SUN. The weary sun hath made a golden set, But yonder comes the glorious king of day, See, at the call of night, The star of evening sheds his silver light Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, The sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, Who ever gaz'd upon them shining, SHAKSPEARE. MILTON GAY'S Dione POPE BYRON'S Siege of Corinth. Ye stars, that are the poetry of heaven! BYRON'S Childe Harold. The queen of night asserts her silent reign. BYRON'S Corsair. I'lac'd in the spangled sky, with visage bright MOURNING - MOTHER - MOUNTAINS 413 How oft at midnight have I fix'd my gaze Upon the blue, unclouded firmament, With thousand spheres illumin'd, and, perchance, -Going forth, HON. W. HERBERT. Her princely way arong the stars in slow And silent brightness. H. WARE But the stars, the soft stars!—when they glitter above us, I gaze on their beams with a feeling divine; For, as true friends in scrrow more tenderly love us, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. O! who can lift above a careless look, While such bright scenes as these his thoughts engage, And doubt, while reading from so fair a book, That God's own finger trac'd the glowing page; Or deem the radiance of yon blue expanse, With all its starry hosts, the careless work of Chance? MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. MORNING.-(See DAY.) MOTHER. (See FATHER.) MOUNTAINS. He who first met the highlands' swelling blue, |