196 GENEROSITY-GENIUS-GENTLEMAN. Oh, the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, keen, The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank and lean; GENEROSITY. I will send his ransom. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me: O born of heaven, thou child of magic song! The steps of its ascent are cut in sand; And half-way up,—a snake-scourge in her hand, And last, if thou the top, expiring gain, When fame applauds, thou hearest not the strain. Shaks. Timon of Athens. One science only will one genius fit, O, my good lord, the world is but a word; Shaks. Timon. Pope's Essay on Criticism. If wanting worth, are shining instruments, Young's Night Thoughts. Thou can'st not reach the light that I shall find; Genius, the Pythian of the Beautiful, Sir Robert Howard. An act that does deserve requital, God blesses still the generous thought, GENIUS. Leaves its large truths a riddle to the Dull Whittier's Poems. His was the gifted eye, which grace still touch'd Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born, and never can be taught. Genius! thou gift of Heaven! thou light divine! Miss Landon. They say that he has genius. I but see GENTLEMAN. Nor stand so much on your gentility, Or want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come, Whom do we dub as gentlemen? The knave, the fool, the brute If they but own full tithe of gold and wear a To cast thee up again? courtly suit! The parchment scroll of titled line, the riband at the knee, Can still suffice to ratify and grant a high degree! Eliza Cook's Poems. But nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born, And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn; Shaks. Hamlet What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, I am thy father's spirit; She moulds with care a spirit rare, half human, Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night half divine, And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, man like mine?" And cries, exulting, "Who can make a gentle- Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away Eliza Cook's Poems. Shaks. Hamlet Save me and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure? Shaks. Hamlet. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Fre human statute purg'd the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end: but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. Shaks. Macbeth. The marshal and myself had cast Like sunbeam on the billow cast, Scott's Marmion. O speak, if voice thou hast! Tell me what sacrifice can soothe your spirits; Can still the unquiet sleepers of the grave: For this most horrid visitation is Beyond endurance of the noblest mind, In flesh and blood enrob'd. Joanna Baillie's Ethwald. Part II A horrid spectre rises to my sight, Joanna Baillie's Ethwald. Part II. Why have they laid him there? Thomson's Sophonisba Ophelia.-My honour'd lord, you know right well, What is glory?—in the socket you did; And with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd They are the noblest benefits, and sink Jonson's Underwood. Our glories float between the earth and heaven Before I knew thee, Mary, Ambition was my angel. I did hear My days were visionary My nights were like the slumbers of the mad- Would I were in some lonely desert born, And ne'er one ray of hope or pleasure knew; Then had my soul been never taught to rise, Then had I never dream'd of power or fame; No pictur'd scene of bliss deceiv'd my eyes, Nor glory lighted in my breast its flame. GLUTTONY. Percival. And by his side rode loathsome gluttony, Whose life's the table and the stage, Killegrew's Conspiracy. Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. Shaks. Love's Labour. Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace: Leave gormandizing. Shaks. Henry IV. Part II. For swinish gluttony Ne'er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeous feast; But with besotted, base ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Milton's Comus. Sone, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die, By fire, flood, famine, by intemp'rance more In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall bring Diseases dire. Milton's Paradise Lost. The tankards foam; and the strong table groans Prompted by instinct's never-erring power, Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy: Armstrong's Art of Preserving Healin Of light reflection, at the genial board A drowsy death creeps on th' expansive soul, Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, Joanna Baillie's Basil. GOD. God, who oft descends to visit men Milton's Paradise Lost His steps are beauty, and his presence light. Mrs. Hemans's Poems. |