Footnotes

[623:1] See Marlowe, page [41].

[624:1] This line stands in Moxon's edition of 1842,—

"The gardener Adam and his wife,"—

and has been restored by the author in his edition of 1873.

[624:2] See Chapman, page [37].

[624:3] See Pope, page [340].

[625:1] See Byron, page [543].

[626:1] See Longfellow, page [618].

[628:1] Jaws of death.—Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. 4. Du Bartas: Weekes and Workes, day i. part 4.

[629:1] See Cowper, page [422].

[631:1] The poet alluded to is Goethe. I know this from Lord Tennyson himself, although he could not identify the passage; and when I submitted to him a small book of mine on his marvellous poem, he wrote, "It is Goethe's creed," on this very passage.—Rev. Dr. Getty (vicar of Ecclesfield, Yorkshire).

[631:2] See Longfellow, page [616].

[632:1] See Shakespeare, page [144].

[632:2] I sing but as the linnet sings.—Goethe: Wilhelm Meister, book ii. chap. xi.

[632:3] See Crabbe, page [444].

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES (LORD HOUGHTON). 1809-1885.

But on and up, where Nature's heart

Beats strong amid the hills.

Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube. Stanza 2.

Great thoughts, great feelings came to them,

Like instincts, unawares.

The Men of Old.

A man's best things are nearest him,

Lie close about his feet.

The Men of Old.

I wandered by the brookside,

I wandered by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow,

The noisy wheel was still.

The Brookside.

The beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.

The Brookside.

[[635]]

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 1809- ——.

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see

That banner in the sky.

Old Ironsides.

Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,

The lightning and the gale!

Old Ironsides.

Like sentinel and nun, they keep

Their vigil on the green.

The Cambridge Churchyard.

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom;

And the names he loved to hear

Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb.

The Last Leaf.

I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here;

But the old three-cornered hat,

And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!

The Last Leaf.

Thou say'st an undisputed thing

In such a solemn way.

To an Insect.

Their discords sting through Burns and Moore,

Like hedgehogs dressed in lace.

The Music-Grinders.

You think they are crusaders sent

From some infernal clime,

To pluck the eyes of sentiment

And dock the tail of Rhyme,

To crack the voice of Melody

And break the legs of Time.

The Music-Grinders.

[[636]]

And since, I never dare to write

As funny as I can.

The Height of the Ridiculous.

When the last reader reads no more.

The Last Reader.

The freeman casting with unpurchased hand

The vote that shakes the turrets of the land.

Poetry, a Metrical Essay.

'T is the heart's current lends the cup its glow,

Whate'er the fountain whence the draught may flow.

A Sentiment.

Yes, child of suffering, thou mayst well be sure

He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!

A Rhymed Lesson. Urania.

And when you stick on conversation's burrs,

Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful urs.

A Rhymed Lesson. Urania.

Thine eye was on the censer,

And not the hand that bore it.

Lines by a Clerk.

Where go the poet's lines?

Answer, ye evening tapers!

Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,

Speak from your folded papers!

The Poet's Lot.

A few can touch the magic string,

And noisy Fame is proud to win them;

Alas for those that never sing,

But die with all their music in them!

The Voiceless.

O hearts that break and give no sign

Save whitening lip and fading tresses!

The Voiceless.

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

The Chambered Nautilus.

[[637]]

His home! the Western giant smiles,

And twirls the spotty globe to find it;

This little speck, the British Isles?

'T is but a freckle,—never mind it.

A Good Time going.

But Memory blushes at the sneer,

And Honor turns with frown defiant,

And Freedom, leaning on her spear,

Laughs louder than the laughing giant.

A Good Time going.

You hear that boy laughing?—you think he 's all fun;

But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;

The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,

And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all.

The Boys.

Good to the heels the well-worn slipper feels

When the tired player shuffles off the buskin;

A page of Hood may do a fellow good

After a scolding from Carlyle or Ruskin.

How not to settle it.

A thought is often original, though you have uttered it a hundred times.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. i.

People that make puns are like wanton boys that put coppers on the railroad tracks.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. i.

Everybody likes and respects self-made men. It is a great deal better to be made in that way than not to be made at all.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. i.

Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.