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"SEEK NOT T' EXPLORE WHAT TERM OF LIFE FOR THEE OR ME MAY BE IN STORE-(DERBY'S HORACE)
Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assailed,
The Atridae both, and Tydeus' warlike son,
Or by the prompting of some heaven-taught seer,
To whom great Hector of the glancing helm :
My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush
If, like a coward, I should shun the fight.
The day must come when this our sacred Troy,
Nor loss of brethren, numerous and brave,
Condemned to ply the loom, of water draw
Heart-wrung, by stern necessity constrained.
AND NONE MAY STAY THEIR COURSE."-DERBY'S HORACE.
WISER FAR, WHATE'ER OUR FUTURE FATE MAY SEND, WITH CHEERFUL MIND TO BEAR."-DERBY'S HORACE.
"MAN'S WILD SOUL, IN FIERCE COMMOTION, STILL BEYOND THE BOUNDS OF REASON,-(SCHILLER)
66 EVER SOME DISTANT BLISS APPEARS, -(DERBY'S SCHILLER)
EARL OF DERBY.
For loss of him who might have been thy shield,
Thus as he spoke, great Hector stretched his arms
. All glittering, on the ground; then kissed his child,
'Grant, Jove, and all ye gods, that this my son
For valour famed, his country's guardian king;
Thus saying, in his mother's arm he placed
No man may take my life; and when it comes,
Great Hector said, and raised his plumèd helm;
THE GOLDEN SCOPE OF EAGER GAZE."-DERBY'S SCHILLER.
VARIES LIKE THE VARYING SEASON, TOST ON PASSION'S STORMY OCEAN."-DERBY'S SCHILLER.
"MAN, 'MID STORM, AND WRATH, AND STRIFE, BREAKING WITH RESISTLESS FORCE (SCHILLER)
"THE WORLD GROWS OLD, GROWS YOUNG AGAIN,DERBY'S SCHILLER)
THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 161
And homeward, slow, with oft-reverted eyes,
For Hector, yet alive, his household mourned,
Safe from the fight, by Grecian hands unharmed.
[From the "Iliad," book vi., lines 459-580.-We quote a few lines from Pope's version of this fine passage:
"With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair,
"Lord Derby's version," says a critic in Blackwood's Magazine, “admirably preserves all the fine touches by which the model husband and wife of antiquity are set before us in Homer. Many of them are lost to us in the dialogue between Pope's 'beauteous princess' and her 'too daring prince.' But here we have Homer's unrivalled picture of conjugal and parental love in all its noble simplicity."]
IS E'ER THE DREAM OF MEN.". -DERBY'S SCHILLER.
ALL THAT BARS HIS HEADLONG COURSE, HURRIES DOWN HIS PATH OF LIFE."-DERBY'S SCHILLER.
"I THINK THAT THERE IS PRIVILEGE IN WOE, AND SORROW MAY NOT SEIZE US EVERYWHERE;-(SYDNEY DOBEll)
"THE YEARS THEY COME, AND THE YEARS THEY GO,-(Dobell)
[SYDNEY DOBELL is best known to the reading public by his nom de plume of "Sydney Yendys," under which he published his earlier poems of "The Roman" (1850) and "Balder." He is also the author of England in Time of War," and, in conjunction with Alexander Smith, of "Sonnets of the War." He was born at Peckham Rye in 1824. Owing in some measure to his choice of subjects, and partly to his peculiar theory of poetical construction, he has never become popular, but no judicious reader will deny him the possession of the true lyrical faculty. It is true he is a metaphysical poet, of the school of Donne and Cowley; that his versification is often uncouth, and his thought enveloped in a shroud of luminous mist; but he is an original man, and an original poet, with great dramatic instinct and much subtle far-reaching power. His genius is seen at its best in "England in Time of War." As a -poet has said, it is "his homeliest, simplest, and most delightful work."]
THE RUINS OF ANCIENT ROME.
The hoar, unconscious walls, bisson and bare,
Imperial, where the ever-passing fates
Wore out the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth
LIKE WINDS THAT BLOW FROM SEA TO SEA."-SYDNEY DOBELL.
AND HAVOC DOTH NOT HUNT WHERE'ER HE LIST; AND SLEEP IS HALCYON TIME WHEN GRIEFS ARE STILL."-DOBell.
"EACH MAN IN HIS TURN, AT CULMINATION OF ONE HAPPY HOUR, SYDNEY DOBELL)
"LOVE MAKES US ALL POETS."-SYDNEY DOBell.
KEITH OF RAVELSTON.
With thoughts of ages; like some mighty captive
Rank weeds and grasses, and asked no leave,
Careless and nodding, grew,
Where Romans trembled. Where the wreck was saddest,
[From "The Roman."]
KEITH OF RAVELSTON.
HE murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine;-
O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
And through the silver meads.
LOVE HATH HIS CELL IN THE DEEP SECRET HEART.IBID.
CONSUMMATE OF SOME SOLE TOPMOST DAY, HATH HIS APOTHEOSIS."-SYDNEY DOBELL.