Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Campbell
And mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knewThe world’s regard, that soothes, though half untrue;Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore,But found not pity when it err’d no more.Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eyeTh’ unfeeling proud one looks, and passes by;Condemn’d on penury’s barren path to roam,Scorn’d by the world, and left without a home.
Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden growWreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe.
But can the noble mind for ever brood,The willing victim of a weary mood,On heartless cares that squander life away,And cloud young Genius bright’ning into day?
Cease, every joy, to glimmer in my mind,But leave,—oh! leave the light of Hope behind!What though my winged hours of bliss have been,Like angel-visits, few and far between.
He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl’d,And burst the ties that bound him to the world!
I alone am left on earth!To whom nor relative nor blood remains,No! not a kindred drop that runs in human veins.
In yonder pensile orb, and every sphereThat gems the starry girdle of the year.
Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day;For, dark and despairing, my sight I may sealBut man cannot cover what God would reveal;’Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,And coming events cast their shadows before.
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre doubts that rollCimmerian darkness o’er the parting soul.
Never wedding, ever wooing,Still a love-lorn heart pursuing,Read you not the wrong you’re doing,In my cheek’s pale hue?All my life with sorrow strewing,Wed, or cease to woo.
O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander’d there,To waft us home the message of despair?
Oh! lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,One hopeless, dark idolater of chance,Content to feed with pleasures unrefin’d,The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;Who mouldering earthward, ’reft of every trust,In joyless union wedded to the dust,Could all his parting energy dismiss,And call this barren world sufficient, bliss?
Out spoke the victor then,As he hail’d them o’er the wave,Ye are brothers! ye are men!And we conquer but to save;So peace instead of death let us bring;But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,With the crews, at England’s feet,And make submission meetTo our King.
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter’d bark delay,Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,Who rush to glory, or the grave!Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,And charge with all thy chivalry.
The more we live, more brief appearOur life’s succeeding stages;A day to childhood seems a year,And years like passing ages.
The prophet’s mantle, ere his flight began,Dropt on the world—a sacred gift to man.
The world was sad!—the garden was a wild!And man, the hermit, sigh’d—till woman smiled.
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin;The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill!For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing,To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
’Tis the sunset of life gives us mystical lore,And coming events cast their shadows before.
’Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives,And in their deaths had not divided been.
To live in hearts we leave behind,Is not to die.
To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,Or, crush’d in its ruins, to die!
Who hath not own’d, with rapture-smitten frame,The power of grace, the magic of a name.
Without our hopes, without our fears,Without the home that plighted love endears,Without the smile from partial beauty won,O! what were man?—a world without a sun.
Without the smile from partial beauty won,O, what were man! a world without a sun!
Ye mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand years,The battle and the breeze.
A stoic of the woods,—a man without a tear.
And rival all but Shakespear’s name below.
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.
Angels for the good man’s sin wept to record, and blushed to give it in.
Beauty is a beam from heaven that dazzles blind our reason.
Beauty’s tears are lovelier than her smiles.
Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie, but that which warmed it once shall never die.
Coming events cast their shadows before.
Faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span.
For Beauty’s tears are lovelier than her smile.
He scorns his own who feels another’s woe.
Hope for a season bade the world farewell, and Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell.
I am convinced that there is no man that knows life well, and remembers all the incidents of his past experience who would accept it again; we are certainly here to punish precedent sins.
In the human breast two master-passions cannot coexist.
Let us do or die.
Like angel visits, few and far between.
One could take down a book from a shelf ten times more wise and witty than almost any man’s conversation. Bacon is wiser, Swift more humorous, than any person one is likely to meet with; but they cannot chime in with the exact frame of thought in which we happen to take them down from our shelves. Therein lies the luxury of conversation; and when a living speaker does not yield us that luxury, he becomes only a book on two legs.
Sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, and the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
The meteor flag of England.
The stormy music of the drum.
’T is the sunset of life gives us mystical lore.
To bear is to conquer our fate.
Triumphant arch, that fill’st the sky when storms prepare to part!
What millions died that Cæsar might be great!
When love came first to earth, the spring spread rose-beds to receive him.
While memory watches o’er the sad review of joys that faded like the morning dew.
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky.
