ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1774-1843.

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray."

The Old Man's Comforts, and how he gained them.

The march of intellect.1

Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society. Vol. ii.
The Doctor, Chap. Extraordinary.

p. 360.

The laws are with us, and God on our side.

On the Rise and Progress of Popular Disaffection (1817).
Essay viii. Vol. ii. p. 107.

And so never ending, but always descending.

And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

1 See Burke, page 408.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid

From his brimstone bed, at break of day,
A-walking the Devil is gone,

To look at his little snug farm of the World,
And see how his stock went on.

The Devil's Walk. Stanza 1

He passed a cottage with a double coach-house,

A cottage of gentility;

And he owned with a grin,

That his favourite sin

Is pride that apes humility.1

Ibid. Stanza 8.

Where Washington hath left

His awful memory

A light for after times!

Ode written during the War with America, 1814.

How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air;

No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:

In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths;
Beneath her steady ray

The desert circle spreads

Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.

How beautiful is night!

Thalaba. Book i. Stanza 1.

"But what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he; "But 't was a famous victory."

Blue, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue.2

The Battle of Blenheim.

Madoc in Wales. Part i. 5.

What will not woman, gentle woman dare,
When strong affection stirs her spirit up?

1 See Coleridge, page 501.

24 Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

Part ii. 2.

BYRON: Don Juan, canto iv. stanza 110.

And last of all an Admiral came,

A terrible man with a terrible name,

A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.

The March to Moscow. Stanza 8

They sin who tell us love can die;

With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.

Love is indestructible,

Its holy flame forever burneth;

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

Oh, when a mother meets on high

The babe she lost in infancy,

Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?

Stanza 11

Thou hast been called, O sleep! the friend of woe;
But 't is the happy that have called thee so.

The Satanic school.

Canto xv. Stanza 11.

Vision of Judgment. Original Preface.

The red-letter days now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.

Oxford in the Vacation.

For with G. D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak profanely) to be present with the Lord.

Ibid.

A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game. Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist

Sentimentally I am disposed to ganically I am incapable of a tune.

Not if I know myself at all.

It is good to love the unknown.

harmony; but or

A Chapter on Ears.

The Old and New Schoolmaster.

Valentine's Day.

The pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass. (as it seemed), resembling a homely fancy, but I judged it to be sugar-candy; yet to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy. My First Play.

Presents, I often say, endear absents.

It argues an insensibility.

Books which are no books.

A Dissertation upon Roast Pig.

Ibid.

Detached Thoughts on Books.

Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.

Gone before

To that unknown and silent shore.

Amicus Redivivus.

Hester. Stanza 7.

I have had playmates, I have had companions,

In

my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days. All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. Old Familiar Faces.

For thy sake, tobacco, I

Would do anything but die.

A Farewell to Tobacco.

And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.

Written at Cambridge.

Who first invented work, and bound the free
And holiday-rejoicing spirit down

To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood?

Sabbathless Satan!

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone!
In whose capacious all-embracing leaves

Work

The very marrow of tradition 's shown;

And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an orna

ment to society.

Neat, not gaudy.1

Captain Starkey.

Letter to Wordsworth, 1806.

Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold! Lamb's Suppers.

Returning to town in the stage-coach, which was filled with Mr. Gilman's guests, we stopped for a minute or two at Kentish Town. A woman asked the coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb put his head through the window and said, "I am quite full inside; that last piece of pudding at Mr. Gilman's did the business for me." Autobiographical Recollections. (Leslie.)

JAMES SMITH. 1775-1839.

No Drury Lane for you to-day.

Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Début.

I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.

Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.

Ibid.

The Theatre.

WILLIAM PITT.

A strong nor'-wester's blowing, Bill!
Hark! don't ye hear it roar now?
Lord help 'em, how I pities them
Unhappy folks on shore now!

1 See Shakespeare, page 130.

-1840.

The Sailor's Consolation.