Page images




ARTIFICE. Why I can smile, and murder while I smile, And cry content, at that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheek with artificial tears.


He soon aware, Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm, Artificer of fraud! and was the first That practised falsehood under saintly shew.-Milton. Shallow artifice begets suspicion, And, like a cobweb veil, but thinly shades The face of thy design; alone disguising What should have ne'er been seen; imperfect mischief! Thou, like the adder, venomous and deaf, Hast stung the traveller; and after hear'st Not his pursuing voice; e'en when thou think'st To hide, the rustling leaves and bended grass Confess, and point the path which thou hast crept. O fate of fools! officious in contriving; In executing-puzzled, lame, and lost. Congreve. A man of sense can artifice disdain, As men of wealth may venture to go plain; I find the fool when I behold the screen, For 'tis the wise man's interest to be seen. Youny.


Then rising from His grave,
Spoiled principalities, and powers triumphed
In open show; and, with ascension bright,
Captivity led captive.
Then to the heaven of heavens shall He ascend
With victory, triumphing through the air
Over His foes and thine.

What star I know not, but some star I find,
Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind. Dryden.
No land but Italy erects the sight
To such a vast ascent, or swells to such a height.






Some say he bids his angels turn askance
The poles of earth twice ten degrees and more,
From the sun's axle: they with labour pushed
Oblique the centric globe.

Since the space that lies on either side
The solar orb, is without limits wide,
Grant that the sun had happened to prefer
A foot askant, but one diameter;
Lost to the light by that unhappy space,
This globe had lain a frozen lonesome mass.

Blackmore. There is a willow grows aslant a brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.


There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have.

Shakspere. Hence springs that universal strong desire

Which all men have of immortality:
Not some few spirits unto this aspire,
But all men's minds in this united be.

Sir J. Davies.
Aspiring to be gods if angels fell,
Aspiring to be angels, men rebel.

Pope. Longings sublime, and aspirations high. Byron.

The high-born soul Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm; Rides on the vollied lightnings through the heavens; Or yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,




Sweeps the long tract of day.

For from the birth
Of mortal man the Sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Nor in the fading echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes nor pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find enjoyment; but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her own,

Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene. Akenside.

As flame ascends;
As bodies to their proper centre move;
As the poised ocean to the attracting moon
Obedient swells; as every headlong stream
Devolves its winding waters to the main;
So all things which have life aspire to God.

Thrice happy they, who fixing hope and aim
On the humanities of peaceful fame,
Enter by times with more than martial fire
The generous cause, aspire and still aspire;
Upheld by warnings, heeded not too late,
Stifle the contradictions of their fate,
And to one purpose cleave, their being's God-like mate.



Is there a crime
Beneath the roof of heaven, that stains the soul
With more infernal hue than damned

'Tis bad enough when the assassin stabs
The perishable body, sending man
Unto his dread account all unprepared;
But, Oh! 'tis worse when he essays to pierce
The vital principle within the soul -
The principle of virtue, which alone
Could save, through grace divine, him from perdition.
This, this, indeed, is dire assassination!

H. G.1. 62



What man is he that boasts of fleshly might,

And vain assurance of mortality,
Which all so soon as it doth come to fight

Against spiritual foes, yields by and by. Spenser.

But what on earth can long abide in state?
Or who can man assure of happy day?


'Tis far off, And rather like a dream, than the assurance My remembrance warrants.

Shakspere. But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure, And take a bond of fate.


With all the assurance innocence can bring,
Fearless without, because secure within;
Armed with my courage, unconcerned I see
This pomp, a shame to you, a pride to me. Dryden.

To these, the sober race of men, whose lives
Religous titled them the sons of God,
Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame,
Ignobly to the trains and to the smiles
Of these fair atheists.

Atheist, use thine eyes,
And having viewed the order of the skies,
Think, if thou canst, that matter blindly hurled
Without a guide, should frame this wondrous world.

Creech. An atheist!-he hath never faced an hour And not belied the name he bore. His doubt Is darkness from the unbelieving will Begot, and oft a parasite to sin, Too dear to be deserted; for the truth That unveils heaven and her immortal thrones, Uncovers hell and awful duties too.

R. Montgomery. ATTEMPT.




HE flattering his displeasure,
Tript me behind, got praises of the king,
For him attempting, who was self-subdued.

Who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of man, with strength entire and free-will armed.

Milton. The wise and active conquer difficulties, By daring to attempt them; sloth and folly Shiver and sink at sights of toil and hazard, And make the impossibility they fear.


Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.



I DANCE attendance here.
I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

They say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony. Shakspere.
I'm never merry when I hear sweet music;
The reason is your spirits are attentive. Shakspere.
The first true cause, and last good end,

She cannot here so well and truly see; For this perfection she must yet attend, Till to her Maker she espoused be.

Sir John Davies. Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none Are to behold the judgment, but the judged; Those two.


« PreviousContinue »