The fire-eyed maid of smoky war King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act iv. Sc. 1. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! T. CAMPBELL. He is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war; Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. SHAKESPEARE. For ever and anon when you have passed A few dull years in peace and propagation, The world is overstocked with fools, and wants Edwin. G. JEFFERYS. O War! thou hast thy fierce delight, SIR W. SCOTT. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Othello, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, They come. Our castle's strength Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE. War, war is still the cry,-" war even to the knife!" Childe Harold, Canto I. LORD BYRON. O, the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing With helm and blade, And plumes, in the gay wind dancing! May lead to death, But never to retreating. O, the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing With helm and blade, And plumes, in the gay wind dancing. O, the sight entrancing. From the tents, T. MOORE. The armorers, accomplishing the knights, King Henry V., Act iv. Chorus. Father, I call on thee! SHAKESPEARE. Clouds from the thunder-voiced cannon enveil me, Lightnings are flashing, death's thick darts assail me : Ruler of battles, I call on thee! Father, oh lead thou me ! Prayer During the Battle. German of K. T. KÖRNER. Trans. of J. S. BLACKIE. Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe; Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame! T. CAMPBELL. Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend ; The Iliad, Bk. VII. HOMER. Trans. of POPE. Ay me! what perils do environ The man that meddles with cold iron. Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III. S. BUTLER. Now swells the intermingling din; the jar The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene, War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade, And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore, The bread they eat, the staff on which they lean. War. P. B. SHELLEY. One to destroy is murder by the law; Great princes have great playthings. DR. E. YOUNG. But war's a game which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at. The Task: Winter Morning Walk. Death. W. COWPER. One murder made a villain, B. PORTEUS. Mark where his carnage and his conquest cease! He makes a solitude, and calls it-peace! The Bride of Abydos, Canto II. Some undone widow sits upon mine arm, LORD BYRON. And takes away the use of it; and my sword, Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears, Will not be drawn. A New Way to Pay Old Debts, Act v. Sc. 1. P. MASSINGER. Ez fer war, I call it murder,There you hev it plain an' flat ; I don't want to go no furder Than my Testyment fer that. The Biglow Papers, First Series, No. I. J. R. LOWELL. WATERS. Water is the mother of the vine, The Dionysia. C. MACKAY. Till taught by pain, Men really know not what good water 's worth; You'd wish yourself where Truth is-in a well. LORD BYRON. Water its living strength first shows, God, Soul, and World. J. W. GOETHE. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrewn, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave: And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. The Minstrel, Book II. J. BEATTIE. Along thy wild and willowed shore; Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT. With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks The Story of Rimini. L. HUNT. The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below! Gertrude, Pt. III. T. CAMPBELL. Thou hastenest down between the hills to meet me at the road, The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode light. Friend Brook. LUCY LARCOM. Brook! whose society the poet seeks, And whom the curious painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, And tracks thee dancing down thy waterbreaks. Brook! Whose Society the Poet Seeks. W. WORDSWORTH. The roar of waters !-from the headlong height The fall of waters! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON. Let beeves and home-bred kine partake Yarrow Unvisited. W. WORDSWORTH. Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm, Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm ; I, that once loved the shady woods so well, Now thought the rivers did the trees excel, And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell. Contemplations. ANNE BRADSTREET. Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. V. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide SIR W. SCOTT. Is it not better, then, to be alone, LORD BYRON. |