Constancy, Fidelity. O heaven! were man But constant, he were perfect; that one error Shakespeare: Two Gentlemen of Verona. I am constant as the northern star, Shakespeare: Julius Cæsar. Tell him I love him yet, As in that joyous time; Tell him I ne'er forget, Though memory now be crime. Praed: Tell Him I Love Him Yet. Go, bid the needle its dear North forsake, Go, bid th' ambitious flames no more ascend; Cowley. Where'er thou journeyest, or whate'er thy care, My heart shall follow, and my spirit share. Oh, the heart, that has truly loved, never forgets, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, Contentment. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Shakespeare: 3 Henry VI. Who with a little cannot be content, Man wants but little here below, Herrick. Goldsmith: Edwin and Angelina. This is the charm, by sages often told, Converting all it touches into gold: Content can soothe, where'er by fortune placed, Can rear a garden in the desert waste. Henry Kirke White: Clifton Grove. The remnant of his days he safely past, Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast; Country, Country Life, Rural Life. Happy the man, whose wish and care In his own ground. Prior. Pope: Solitude. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, Of men Goldsmith: Deserted Village. The happiest he, who far from public rage, Thomson: Seasons. Autumn. God made the country, and man made the town; How various his employments, whom the world Cowper: Task. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, Cowper: Task. Courage, Fortitude, Valor, Daring; see Action. Shakespeare: Macbeth. For courage mounteth with occasion. Shakespeare: King John. True fortitude is seen in great exploits That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides; Addison: Cato. What though the field be lost! Milton: Paradise Lost. No thought of flight, None of retreat, no unbecoming deed That argued fear; each on himself relied, Of victory. Milton: Paradise Lost. Come one, come all! this rock shall fly Scott: Lady of the Lake. -His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, Byron: Giaour. And tho' I hope not hence unscath'd to go, Byron: English Bards. One who never turn'd his back but march'd breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dream'd, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake. Browning: Epilogue to Asolando. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! Browning: Rabbi Ben Ezra. Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Walt Whitman. It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong, Maltbie D. Babcock. |