Who, lord of millions, trembles for his store,
And fears to give a farthing to the poor;
Proclaims that penury will be his fate,
And, scowling, looks on charity with hate.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.
The love of gold, that meanest rage, And latest folly of man's sinking age, Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, While nobler passions wage their heated strife, Comes skulking last with selfishness and fear, And dies collecting lumber in the rear!
Moore. The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.
Byron's Don Juan. Oh gold!-why call we misers miserable? Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall; Theirs is the best bower-anchor, the chain cable, Which holds fast other pleasures great and small; Ye who but see the saving man at table, And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, Know not what visions spring from each cheese. paring.
Why call the miser miserable? As
I said before, the frugal life is his,
Which in a saint or cynic ever was
The theme of praise: a hermit would not miss
Canonization for the self-same cause,
And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities?
Because, you'll say, naught calls for such a trial;-
Then there's more merit in his self-denial.
Byron's Don Juan.
But whether all, or each, or none of these,
May be the hoarder's principle of action,
The fool will call such mania a disease:-
What is his own? Go look at each transaction,
Wars, revels, loves-do these bring men more ease
Than the mere plodding through each vulgar
fraction;
Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser!
Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours, who's
wiser ?
Byron's Don Juan. Why Mammon sits before a million hearths Where God is bolted out from every house. Bailley's Festus.
The churl who holds it heresy to think,
Who loves no music but the dollar's clink,
Who laughs to scorn the wisdom of the schools,
And deems the first of poets first of fools,
Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour;
And not the king exiled thee. Or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou goest, not whence tho
Shaks. Richard II
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.
Shaks. Romeo and Julut.
I've stoopt my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouas,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
While you have fed upon my signories;
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From mine own windows torn my household-coat,
Raz'd out my impress; leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,
To show the world I am a gentleman.
The rest, that scape his sword and death eschew
Fly like a flocke of doves before a falcon's view.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
All sodainly enflam'd with furious fit,
Like a fell lionesse, at him she flew,
Shaks. Richard II. And on his head-piece him so fiercely smit,
Banished?
That to the ground him quite she overthrew,
Dismay'd so with the stroke that he no colours
Spenser's Fairy Queen,
The eager armies meet to try their cause,
Our English lords in four battalias
Bring on their forces, but so furious grows
In little time the fight, so near the blows,
That soon no order we perceive at all,
For, like one body, closely move they all.
May's Eduard III.
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin absolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word- banishment?
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.
Banish me?
Banish your dotage: banish usury,
That makes the senate ugly.
I'll give thrice so much land,
To any well deserving friend;
But in the way of bargain, mark me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt,
The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt,
The Douglas in red herrings;
And noble name and cultur'd land,
Palace, and park, and vassal band,
Are powerless to the notes of hand
Of Rothschild or the Barings.
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower :
Three times they breath'd, and three times did
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood.
Shaks, Henry IV.
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground:
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth:
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French.
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men the greater share of honour.
Shaks. Henry V.
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom;
Halleck's Alnwich Castle. Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,
To thunder blowes, and fiercely to assaile
Each other, bent his enemy to quell,
Our ancient word of courage, fair saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.
Shaks. Richard III.
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath;
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
That with their force they perst both plate and Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls.
And made wide furrows in their fleshes fraile,
That it would pity any living eie.
Large floods of blood adowne their sides did raile,
But floods of blood could not them satisfie:
Both hongred after death; both chose to win or die.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Then to the rest his wrathful hand he bends,
of whom he makes such havocke and such hew,
That swarns of damned soules to hell he sends;
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of ncat:
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
Shaks. Henry VI. And now their mightiest quell'd, the battle swerv'd, With many an inroad gor'd; deformed rout Enter'd and foul disorder; all the ground With shiver'd armour strown, and on a heap Chariot and charioteer lay overturn'd, And fiery foaming steeds.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
"Twixt host and host but narrow space was left,
A dreadful interval, and front to front
Presented stood in terrible array
Of hideous length; before the cloudy van
On the rough edge of battle cre it join'd,
Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanc'd,
Came tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
The shout
Of battle now began, and rushing sound
Of onset ended soon each milder thought.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Now night her course began, and over heaven
Inducing darkness, grateful truce, impos'd
Her silence on the odious din of war:
Under her cloudy covert hath retir'd,
Victor and vanquish'd.
Milton's Paradise Lost. Behold in awful march and dread array,
Levell❜d his deadly aim; their fatal hands
No second stroke intended.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
When one, that bare a link,
O' th' sudden clapp'd his flaming cudgel,
Like linstock, to the horse's touch-hole;
And straight another with his flambeau,
Gave Ralpho o'er the eyes a damn'd blow.
Butler's Hudibras.
"Tis not the least disparagement
To be defeated by th' event,
Nor to be beaten by main force,
That does not make a man the worse;
But to turn tail, and run away,
And without blows give up the day,
Or to surrender ere th' assault,
That's no man's fortune, but his fault.
Full oft the rivals met, and neither spar'd
His utmost force, and each forgot to ward.
The head of this was to the saddle bent,
The other backward to the crupper sent.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite.
more! yct more! how fair arrayed y file from out the hawthorn shade, sweep so gallant by!
h all their banners bravely spread, all their armour flashing high,
at George might waken from the dead, see fair England's standard fly.
- war, that for a space did fail,
trebly thundering swelled the gale,
1-Stanley! was the cry;-
ight on Marmion's visage spread,
dfired his glazing cye:
h dying hand, above his head,
shook the fragment of his blade,
shouted "Victory!"-
harge, Chester, charge!-On, Stanley, on!" re the last words of Marmion.
Scott's Marmion. hand still strained the broken brand; arms were smeared with blood and sand. Scott's Marmion.
in the castle were at rest;
en sudden on the windows shone
lightning flash, just seen and gone!
shot is heard-again the flame
shed thick and fast-a volley came!
en echoed wildly, from within,
shout and scream the mingled din,
d weapon clash, and maddening cry,
those who kill and those who die!
filled the hall with sulphurous smoke,
re red, more dark, the death-flash broke,
d forms were on the lattice cast,
at struck, or struggled, as they past.
d O! amid that waste of life,
hat various motives fired the strife!
e aspiring noble bled for fame,
e patriot for his country's claim,
is knight his youthful strength to prove, d that to win his lady's love.
Scott's Lady of the Lake. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave! And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few, shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Campbell's Hohenlinden Our bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the centinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.
Campbell's Soldier's Dream.
Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set,
And risen again, and found them grappling yet;
While steams of carnage, in his noon-tide blaze,
Smoke up to heav'n.
Moore's Lalla Rookh.
Did ye not hear it?-No: 't was but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.-
But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening
roar !
Byron's Childe Harold.
By heaven! it is a splendid sight to sce
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there)
Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery,
Their various arms that glitter in the air!
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; Scott's Lord of the Isles. The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Byron's Childe Harold.
petuous, active, fierce, and young, on the advancing foes he sprung. be to the wretch at whom is bent s brandish'd faulchion's sheer descent.
Hand to hand and foot to foot:
Nothing there, save death, was mute;
Stroke and thrust, and flash and cry
For quarter or for victory
Mingle there with the volleying thunder.
Byron's Siege of Corinth.
-one-to break the circling host!"
They form-unite-charge-waver-all is lost!
Within a narrow ring compressed, beset,
Hopeless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet,—
Ah! now they fight in firmest file no more,
Hemmed in-cut off-cleft down-and tram.
pled o'er,
But each strikes singly, silently, and home,
And sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome,
His last faint quittance rendering with his breath,
Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death.
Byron's Corsair.
No dread of death-if with us die our foes-
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will-we snatch the life of life-
When lost-what recks it-by discase or strife.
Byron's Corsair.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Then said the mother to her son,
And pointed to his shield-
"Come with it, when the battle's done,
Or on it, from the field."
And one enormous shout of "Allah!" rose
In the same moment, loud as even the roar
Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes
Hurling defiance: city, stream, and shore
Resounded" Allah !"-and the clouds which close
With thick'ning canopy the conflict o'er,
Vibrate to the eternal name. Hark! through
All sounds it pierceth, "Allah! Allah! Hu!"
Byron's Don Juan. Our fathers live, they guard in glory still
The grass-grown bastions of the fortress'd hill
Here pause we for the present- -as even then
Still ring the echoes of the trampled gorge
That awful pause, dividing life from death,
To God and Freedom! England and St. George!
Struck for an instant on the hearts of men,
The royal cipher on the captured gun
Thousands of whom were drawing their last Mocks the sharp night-dews and the blistering sun!
A moment, and all will be life again!
The march!--the charge!-the shouts of either Point to the summits where the brave had bled,
Where every village claims its glorious dead;
Say, where their bosoms met the bayonet's shock,
Their only corslet was the rustic frock;
Say, when they mustered to the gathering horn,
The titled chieftain curled his lip in scorn;
Yet, when their leader bade his lines advance,
No musket wavered in the lion's glance;
Say, when they fainted in their forced retreat,
They tracked the snow-drifts with their bleeding
feet;
Yet still their banners, tossing in the blast,
Bore Ever Ready, faithful to the last,
Through storm and battle, till they waved agam
On Yorktown's hills and Saratoga's plain.
O. W. Holmes
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