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"TEARS DRIVEN BACK UPON THE FOUNTAIN-HEAD, AND SORROW'S VOICE SUPPREST."-W. S. LANDOR.
"NEITHER THE SUNS NOR FROSTS OF ROLLING YEARS-(W. S. LANDOR)
Have ransomed first their country with their blood!
* Timoleon, the patriot ruler of Corinth.
DRY UP THE SPRINGS OR CHANGE THE COURSE OF TEARS."-LANDOR.
"WEAVE, WHILE IN QUIET SLEEP REPOSE THE DEAD; OH, WHEN WILL THEY TOO REST!"-LANDOR.
"MORE MUTABLE THAN WIND-TORN LEAVES ARE WE; YEA, LOWER THAN THE DUST'S ESTATE."-W. S. LANDOR.
BOASTFULLY WE CALL THE WORLD our own:-(LANDOR)
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
Wept more than slavery ever made them weep,
WHAT ARE WE WHO SHOULD CALL IT SO?"-w. s. LANDOR.
"DISSEVERED FROM OURSELVES, ALIENS AND OUTCASTS, WE ONLY LIVE TO FEEL OUR FALL AND DIE."-LANDor.
"THERE SUNK THE GREATEST, NOR THE WORST OF MEN, WHOSE SPIRIT, ANTITHETICALLY MIXT, -(BYRON)
66 EXTREME IN ALL THINGS! HADST THOU BEEN BETWIXT, BYRON)
NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.
John Gibson Lockhart.
[JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, the son-in-law and biographer of Sir Walter Scott,-born in 1794, died in 1854,-was for many years the editor of the Quarterly Review. As a critic he was distinguished by his acuteness of analysis, and by the trenchant vigour of his satire. As a novelist, and the author of "Valerius," "Adam Blair," "Reginald Dalton," and "Matthew Wald," he showed a remarkable power in depicting the deeper passions of human nature, and in tracing the declension of a lofty mind from sin to sin. His style was clear and forcible; his command of pathos and humour extraordinary. He painted with all the power, and, let us add, all the gloom of a Rembrandt. His poetical translations from the Spanish are indisputably the finest of their kind; and many of his original poems show that he could have handled "the lyre," had he so willed, with a surprising mastery of touch. He was clear and original in conception; masculine and skilful in execution. "His pictures," says a critic, "have all the distinctness of an autumn landscape, outlined on the horizon by an unclouded morning sun."]
NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.*
HE mighty sun had just gone down
Into the chambers of the deep;
And silent was the island shore,
And breathless all the broad red sea,
One solitary tree.
One only tree, one ancient palm,
Whose shadow sleeps the door beside,
When Buonaparte died.
Came forth beneath the spreading tree,
* This poem originally appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for July,
THY THRONE HAD STILL BEEN THINE, OR NEVER BEEN."-Byron.
ONE MOMENT OF THE MIGHTIEST, AND AGAIN ON LITTLE OBJECTS WITH LIKE FIRMNESS FIXT."-BYRON.
"OH, MORE OR LESS THAN MAN, IN HIGH OR LOW, BATTLING WITH NATIONS, FLYING FROM THE FIELD,-(LORD BYRON)
AN EMPIRE THOU COULDST CRUSH, COMMAND, Rebuild,
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.
His silent thoughts I could not scan,
A trembling hand had partly covered
That spake of War and France;
Said I, "Perchance this faded hand,
When Life beat high and Hope was young,
Perchance hath kindled this old cheek;
He hath been with him young and old;
He heard the cannon when they rolled
His soul was as a sword, to leap
At his accustomed leader's word;
I love to see the old man weep,-
As if it were but yesternight,
This man remembers dark Eylau ;+
* Referring to the great battle of the Bridge of Lodi, where Napoleon defeated a superior force of Austrians, May 10, 1796.
The battle of Eylau, in Prussia, where, on February 7 and 8, 1807, the French, under Napoleon, defeated the Russians, after a most sanguinary struggle. The victors lost 15,000 men; the Russians, in killed alone,
BUT GOVERN NOT THY PETTIEST PASSION."-LORD BYRON.
NOW MAKING MONARCHS' NECKS THY FOOTSTOOLS, NOW MORE THAN THY MEANEST SOLDIER TAUGHT TO YIELD."-BYRON.