Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
_Comus. Line 859._
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run.
_Comus. Line 1012._
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
_Comus. Line 1022._
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc'd fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
_Lycidas. Line 3._
He knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
_Lycidas. Line 10._
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
_Lycidas. Line 14._
Under the opening eyelids of the morn.
_Lycidas. Line 26._
But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!
_Lycidas. Line 37._
The gadding vine.
_Lycidas. Line 40._
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse.
_Lycidas. Line 66._
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair.
_Lycidas. Line 68._
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise[247-1]
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears
And slits the thin-spun life.
_Lycidas. Line 70._
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
_Lycidas. Line 78._
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
_Lycidas. Line 100._
The pilot of the Galilean lake;
Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
_Lycidas. Line 109._
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
_Lycidas. Line 130._
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
_Lycidas. Line 139._
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
_Lycidas. Line 168._
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
_Lycidas. Line 188._
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
_Lycidas. Line 193._
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.
_L'Allegro. Line 25._
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastic toe.
_L'Allegro. Line 31._
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.
_L'Allegro. Line 36._
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
_L'Allegro. Line 67._
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighboring eyes.
_L'Allegro. Line 75._
Herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.
_L'Allegro. Line 85._
To many a youth and many a maid
Dancing in the chequer'd shade.
_L'Allegro. Line 95._
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
_L'Allegro. Line 100._
Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.
_L'Allegro. Line 117._
Ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize.
_L'Allegro. Line 121._
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eyes by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
_L'Allegro. Line 129._
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,[249-1]
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
_L'Allegro. Line 135._
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
_L'Allegro. Line 143._
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
_Il Penseroso. Line 8._
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
_Il Penseroso. Line 39._
Forget thyself to marble.
_Il Penseroso. Line 42._
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
_Il Penseroso. Line 45._
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
_Il Penseroso. Line 49._
Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
_Il Penseroso. Line 61._
I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
_Il Penseroso. Line 65._
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
_Il Penseroso. Line 79._
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth.
_Il Penseroso. Line 81._
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
_Il Penseroso. Line 97._
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.
_Il Penseroso. Line 105._
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold.
_Il Penseroso. Line 109._
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
_Il Penseroso. Line 120._
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves
With minute drops from off the eaves.
_Il Penseroso. Line 128._
Hide me from day's garish eye.
_Il Penseroso. Line 141._
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
_Il Penseroso. Line 159._
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
_Il Penseroso. Line 173._
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
_Arcades. Line 68._
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.
_Arcades. Line 88._
O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.
_Ode on the Death of a fair Infant, dying of a Cough._
Such as may make thee search the coffers round.
_At a Vacation Exercise. Line 31._
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 53._
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 135._
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 172._
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 173._
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 184._
Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim.
_Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 197._
What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,--
The labour of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
_Epitaph on Shakespeare._
And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
_Epitaph on Shakespeare._
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.[251-1]
_Sonnet to the Nightingale._
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
_On his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-three._
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground.
_When the Assault was intended to the City._
That old man eloquent.
_To the Lady Margaret Ley._
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
_On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises._
License they mean when they cry, Liberty!
For who loves that must first be wise and good.
_On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises._
Peace hath her victories
No less renown'd than war.
_To the Lord General Cromwell._
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
_On the late Massacre in Piedmont._
Thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
_On his Blindness._
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste?
_To Mr. Lawrence._
In mirth that after no repenting draws.
_Sonnet xxi. To Cyriac Skinner._
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
_Sonnet xxi. To Cyriac Skinner._
Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
_Sonnet xxii. To Cyriac Skinner._
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
_Sonnet xxii. To Cyriac Skinner._
But oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd,
I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.
_On his Deceased Wife._
Have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea.
_Translation of Horace. Book i. Ode 5._
For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the
borrower, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.
_Iconoclastes. xxiii._
Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the
sunbeam.[253-1]
_Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce._
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his
garland and singing robes about him.
_The Reason of Church Government. Introduction, Book ii._
By labour and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this
life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might
perhaps leave something so written to after times as they should
not willingly let it die.
_The Reason of Church Government. Introduction, Book ii._
Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still
air of delightful studies.
_The Reason of Church Government. Introduction, Book ii._
He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter
in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.
_Apology for Smectymnuus._
His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him
at command.
_Apology for Smectymnuus._
Litigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees.
_Tractate of Education._
I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we
should not do, but straight conduct ye to a hillside, where I
will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble
education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so
smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious sounds
on every side that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.
_Tractate of Education._
Enflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue;
stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy
patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.
_Tractate of Education._
Ornate rhetorick taught out of the rule of Plato. . . . To which
poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as
being less suttle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and
passionate.
_Tractate of Education._
In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and
pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to
go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with
heaven and earth.
_Tractate of Education._
Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
_Tractate of Education._
As good almost kill a man as kill a good book: who kills a man
kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a
good book kills reason itself.
_Areopagitica._
A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit,
embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
_Areopagitica._
Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.
_Areopagitica._
I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and
unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but
slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run
for, not without dust and heat.
_Areopagitica._
Who shall silence all the airs and madrigals that whisper
softness in chambers?
_Areopagitica._
Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing
herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible
locks; methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth,
and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam.
_Areopagitica._
Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the
earth, so Truth be in the field, we do ingloriously, by licensing
and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood
grapple: who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open
encounter?[255-1]
_Areopagitica._
Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most
truly kept the law.
_Tetrachordon._
By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and
travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history
now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us
with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far
distance, true colours and shapes.
_The History of England. Book i._
Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what
more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows
flocking and fighting in the air?
_The History of England. Book iv._
FOOTNOTES:
[223-1] But vindicate the ways of God to man.--POPE: _Essay on
Man, epistle i. line 16._
[224-1] See Book iv. line 75.
[224-2] Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.--GRAY: _The
Bard, i. 2, line 6._
[226-1] Aristophanes turns Socrates into ridicule . . . as making
the worse appear the better reason.--DIOGENES LAERTIUS: _Socrates,
v._
[226-2] Our hope is loss, our hope but sad despair.--SHAKESPEARE:
_Henry VI. part iii. act ii. sc. 3._
[227-1] Rubente dextera.--HORACE: _Ode i. 2, 2._
[230-1] Compare great things with small.--VIRGIL: _Eclogues, i.
24_; _Georgics, iv. 176_. COWLEY: _The Motto._ DRYDEN: _Ovid,
Metamorphoses, book i. line 727._ TICKELL: _Poem on Hunting._
POPE: _Windsor Forest._
[231-1] Ye little stars! hide your diminished rays.--POPE: _Moral
Essays, epistle iii. line 282._
[232-1] See Herrick, page 203.
[232-2] Necessity is the argument of tyrants, it is the creed of
slaves.--WILLIAM PITT: _Speech on the India Bill, November, 1783._
[234-1] When unadorned, adorned the most.--THOMSON: _Autumn, line
204._
[238-1] "But most of all respect thyself."--A precept of the
Pythagoreans.
[239-1] Stern daughter of the voice of God.--WORDSWORTH: _Ode to
Duty._
[240-1] Summum nec metuas diem, nec optes (Neither fear nor wish
for your last day).--MARTIAL: _lib. x. epigram 47, line 13._
[241-1] The child is father of the man.--WORDSWORTH: _My Heart
Leaps up._
[245-1] See Shakespeare, page 56.
[247-1] Erant quibus appetentior famæ videretur, quando etiam
sapientibus cupido gloriæ novissima exuitur (Some might consider
him as too fond of fame, for the desire of glory clings even to
the best of men longer than any other passion) [said of Helvidius
Priscus].--TACITUS: _Historia, iv. 6._
[249-1] Wisdom married to immortal verse.--WORDSWORTH: _The
Excursion, book vii._
[251-1] See Chaucer, page 6.
[253-1] See Bacon, page 169.
[255-1] Error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left
free to combat it.--JEFFERSON: _Inaugural Address._
EDWARD HYDE CLARENDON. 1608-1674.
He [Hampden] had a head to contrive, a tongue to persuade, and a
hand to execute any mischief.[255-2]
_History of the Rebellion. Vol. iii. Book vii. § 84._
FOOTNOTES:
[255-2] In every deed of mischief he had a heart to resolve, a
head to contrive, and a hand to execute.--GIBBON: _Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire, chap. xlviii._
Heart to conceive, the understanding to direct, or the hand to
execute.--_From Junius, letter xxxvii. Feb. 14, 1770._
SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 1609-1641.
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out,[256-1]
As if they feared the light;
But oh, she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.
_Ballad upon a Wedding._
Her lips were red, and one was thin;
Compared with that was next her chin,--
Some bee had stung it newly.
_Ballad upon a Wedding._
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?
_Song._
'T is expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it were.
_Against Fruition._
She is pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.
_Brennoralt. Act ii._
Her face is like the milky way i' the sky,--
A meeting of gentle lights without a name.
_Brennoralt. Act iii._
But as when an authentic watch is shown,
Each man winds up and rectifies his own,
So in our very judgments.[256-2]
_Aglaura. Epilogue._
The prince of darkness is a gentleman.[256-3]
_The Goblins._
Nick of time.
_The Goblins._
"High characters," cries one, and he would see
Things that ne'er were, nor are, nor e'er will be.[257-1]
_The Goblins. Epilogue._
FOOTNOTES:
[256-1] See Herrick, page 202.
[256-2]
'T is with our judgments as our watches,--none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
POPE: _Essay on Criticism, part i. line 9._
[256-3] See Shakespeare, page 147.
[257-1]
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
POPE: _Essay on Criticism, part ii. line 53._
There 's no such thing in Nature, and you 'll draw
A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw.
SHEFFIELD: _Essay on Poetry._
MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 1612-1650.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.[257-2]
_My Dear and only Love._
I 'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.[257-3]
_My Dear and only Love._
FOOTNOTES:
[257-2]
That puts it not unto the touch
To win or lose it all.
NAPIER: _Montrose and the Covenanters, vol. ii. p. 566._
[257-3]
I 'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
SCOTT: _Legend of Montrose, chap. xv._
SIR JOHN DENHAM. 1615-1668.
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.
_Cooper's Hill. Line 165._
Oh, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing, full.
_Cooper's Hill. Line 189._
Actions of the last age are like almanacs of the last year.
_The Sophy. A Tragedy._
But whither am I strayed? I need not raise
Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise;
Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built;
Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt
Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign,
Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.[258-1]
_On Mr. John Fletcher's Works._
FOOTNOTES:
[258-1]
Poets are sultans, if they had their will;
For every author would his brother kill.
ORRERY: _Prologues_ (according to Johnson).
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
POPE: _Prologue to the Satires, line 197._
RICHARD CRASHAW. _Circa_ 1616-1650.
The conscious water saw its God and blushed.[258-2]
_Epigram._
Whoe'er she be,
That not impossible she,
That shall command my heart and me.
_Wishes to his Supposed Mistress._
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye,
In shady leaves of destiny.
_Wishes to his Supposed Mistress._
Days that need borrow
No part of their good morrow
From a fore-spent night of sorrow.
_Wishes to his Supposed Mistress._
Life that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend!
_Wishes to his Supposed Mistress._
Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.
_Wishes to his Supposed Mistress._
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day.
_In Praise of Lessius's Rule of Health._
The modest front of this small floor,
Believe me, reader, can say more
Than many a braver marble can,--
"Here lies a truly honest man!"
_Epitaph upon Mr. Ashton._
FOOTNOTES:
[258-2] Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit (The modest Nymph saw
the god, and blushed).--_Epigrammationa Sacra. Aquæ in vinum
versæ, p. 299._
RICHARD LOVELACE. 1618-1658.
Oh, could you view the melody
Of every grace
And music of her face,[259-1]
You 'd drop a tear;
Seeing more harmony
In her bright eye
Than now you hear.
_Orpheus to Beasts._
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.
_To Lucasta, on going to the Wars._
When flowing cups pass swiftly round
With no allaying Thames.[259-2]
_To Althea from Prison, ii._
Fishes that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
_To Althea from Prison, ii._
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
_To Althea from Prison, iv._
FOOTNOTES:
[259-1] See Browne, page 218.
The mind, the music breathing from her face.--BYRON: _Bride of
Abydos, canto i. stanza 6._
[259-2] See Shakespeare, page 103.
ABRAHAM COWLEY. 1618-1667.
What shall I do to be forever known,
And make the age to come my own?
_The Motto._
His time is forever, everywhere his place.
_Friendship in Absence._
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.
_On the Death of Mr. William Harvey._
His _faith_, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his _life_, I 'm sure, was in the right.[260-1]
_On the Death of Crashaw._
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
_From Anacreon, ii. Drinking._
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?
_From Anacreon, ii. Drinking._
A mighty pain to love it is,
And 't is a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.
_From Anacreon, vii. Gold._
Hope, of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.
_The Mistress. For Hope._
Th' adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barb'rous skill;
'T is like the pois'ning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.
_The Waiting Maid._
Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an eternal now does always last.[261-1]
_Davideis. Book i. Line 25._
When Israel was from bondage led,
Led by the Almighty's hand
From out of foreign land,
The great sea beheld and fled.
_Davideis. Book i. Line 41._
An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.[261-2]
_Davideis. Book ii. Line 95._
The monster London laugh at me.
_Of Solitude, xi._
Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.
_Of Solitude, vii._
The fairest garden in her looks,
And in her mind the wisest books.
_The Garden, i._
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.[261-3]
_The Garden, ii._
Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,
Both the great vulgar and the small.
_Horace. Book iii. Ode 1._
Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.[262-1]
_Virgil, Georgics. Book ii. Line 72._
Words that weep and tears that speak.[262-2]
_The Prophet._
We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blush'd before.
_Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell._
Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.[262-3]
_Discourse xi. Of Myself. St. xi._
FOOTNOTES:
[260-1]
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight,
He can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
POPE: _Essay on Man, epilogue iii. line 303._
[261-1] One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting
now.--SOUTHEY: _The Doctor, chap. xxv. p. 1._
[261-2]
Loose his beard and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.
GRAY: _The Bard, i. 2._
[261-3] See Bacon, page 167.