"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

“One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow through the churchway-path we saw him borne.
Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon agèd thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head, upon the lap of Earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to misery, all he had, a tear, —

He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No further seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

THOMAS GRAY.

XCIV. THE STIRRUP CUP.

Death, thou'rt a cordial old and rare;
Look how compounded, with what care!
Time got his wrinkles reaping thee
Sweet herbs from all antiquity.

David to thy distillage went,
Keats and Gautama excellent,

Omar Khayyam and Chaucer bright
And Shakespeare for a king delight.

Then, Time, let not a drop be spilt;
Hand me the cup whene'er thou wilt;
'Tis thy rich stirrup-cup to me;
I'll drink it down right smilingly.

SIDNEY LANIER.

XCV. PERSEVERANCE..

Every man who observes vigilantly, and resolves steadfastly, grows unconsciously into genius.

BULWER-LYTTON.

Life affords no higher pleasure than that of surmounting difficulties, passing from one step of success to another, forming new wishes and seeing them gratified. He that labors in any great and laudable undertaking has his fatigues first supported by hope and afterwards rewarded by joy.

DR. JOHNSON.

Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

I'm proof against the word "failure." I've seen behind it. The only failure a man ought to fear is failure in cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.

GEORGE ELIOT.

Great works are performed, not by strength, but by perseverance.

STEELE.

Did you ever hear of a man who had striven all his life faithfully and singly towards one object, and in no measure obtained it? If a man constantly aspires, is he not elevated?

He who distrusts the security of chance takes more pains to effect the safety which results from labor. To find what you seek in the road of life, the best proverb of all is that which says, "Leave no stone unturned."

BULWER-LYTTON.

XCVI. THE FUNERAL OF JULIUS CÆSAR.

SCENE. The Forum in Rome. Present, ANTONY and a throng of Citizens, with CÆSAR's body.

1 Cit. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony. 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; We'll hear him. - Noble Antony, go up. Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.

4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus? 3 Cit.

[Goes up.

He says, for Brutus' sake,

He finds himself beholding to us all.

4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 1 Cit. This Cæsar was a tyrant.

3 Cit.

Nay, that's certain:

We're bless'd, that Rome is rid of him.

2 Cit. Peace! let us hear what Antony can say. Ant. You gentle Romans,

Citizens.

Peace, ho! let us hear him.

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your

ears:

I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interrèd with their bones:
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,

For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men,
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse.

Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am, to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason! Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

1 Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Cæsar has had great wrong.

3 Cit.

Has he not, masters?