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When eagles are in view, the screaming doves
Will cower beneath the feet of man for safety.
Cibber's Cæsar in Egypt.

Fear on guilt attends, and deeds of darkness;
The virtuous breast ne'er knows it.

Havard's Scanderbeg.

The weakness we lament, ourselves create.
Instructed from our infant years to court,
With counterfeited fears, the aid of man,
We learn to shudder at the rustling breeze,
Start at the light, and tremble in the dark,
Till affectation, rip'ning to belief

And folly, frighted at our own chimeras,
Habitual cowardice usurps the soul. Johnson's Irene,

'Tis well-my soul shakes off its load of care;
'Tis only the obscure is terrible.

Imagination frames events unknown,

In wild fantastic shapes of hideous ruin;
And what it fears creates !

Hannah More's Belshazzar, p. 2.

The dread of evil is the worst of ill;

A tyrant, yet a rebel, dragging down

The clear-ey'd judgment from its spiritual throne,
And leagued with all the base and blacker thoughts
To overwhelm the soul.

Proctor's Mirandola, a. 1, s. 1.

Must I consume my life-this little life-
In guarding against all may make it less?
It is not worth so much! It were to die
Before my hour, to live in dread of death.,

Byron's Sardanapalus, a. 1, s. 2.

Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power.

Thomson's Seasons-Spring.

FEASTING.

Then all was jollity,

Feasting, and mirth, light wantonness and laughter,
Piping and playing, minstrelsies and masking,
'Till life fled from us like an idle dream;
A show of mummery without a meaning.

Rowe's Jane Shore.

The banquet waits our presence, festal joy
Laughs in the mantling goblet, and the night,
Illumin'd by the taper's dazzling beam,
Rivals departed day.

Browne's Barbarossa.

Fill full! Why this is as it should be here
Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces
Happy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach.

Byron's Sardanapalus, a. 3, s. 1.

FIDELITY.

Trust repos'd in noble natures,

Obliges them the more.

Dryden's Assignation.

Is there, kind heaven! no constancy in man?
No stedfast truth, no generous fix'd affection,
That can bear up against a selfish world?
No, there is none.

Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda, a. 3, s. 1.

In the day of woe, she ever rose

Upon the mind with added majesty,

As the dark mountain more sublimely tow'rs
Mantled in clouds and storm.

Joanna Baillie's De Montford, a. 5, s. 4.

Clotilda. Hath time no power upon thy hopeless love? Imogine. Yea, time hath power, and what a power I'll tell thee,

A power to change the pulses of the heart

To one dull throb of ceaseless agony,
To hush the sigh on the resigned lip

And lock it in the heart,-freeze the hot tear
And bid it on the eyelid hang for ever-

Such power hath time o'er me.

Maturin's Bertram, a. 1, s. 1.

They said her cheek of youth was beautiful

Till withering sorrow blanched the bright rose there;
But grief did lay his icy finger on it,

And chilled it to a cold and joyless statue.
Methought she carolled blithely in her youth,
As the couched nestling trills his vesper lay,
But song and smile, beauty and melody,
And youth and happiness are gone from her.
Perchance-even as she is he would not scorn her,
If he could know her-for, for him she's changed;
She is much alter'd-but her heart-her heart!

His sovereign's frown came next

Ibid. a. 1, s. 5.

Then bowed the banners on his crested walls

Torn by the enemies' hand from their proud height; Where twice two hundred years they mocked the

storm.

The stranger's step profaned his desolate halls,
An exiled outcast, houseless, nameless, object,
He fled for life, and scarce by flight did save it.
No hoary beadsman bid his parting step
God speed-No faithful vassal followed him;
For fear had withered every heart but hers,
Who amid shame and ruin lov'd him better.

Mark me, Clotilda,

And mark me well, I am no desperate wretch,

Who borrows an excuse from shameful passion
To make its shame more vile-

Ibid.

I am a wretched, but a spotless wife,

Ibid.

Full many a miserable year hath past-
She knows him as one dead, or worse than dead;
And many a change her varied life hath known,
But her heart none. Maturin's Bertram, a. 1, s. 5..

If thou could'st speak,

Dumb witness of the secret soul of Imogine,
Thou might'st acquit the faith of womankind—
Since thou wast on my midnight pillow laid,
Friend hath forsaken friend, the brotherly tie
Been lightly loosed-the parted coldly met-
Yea, mothers have with desperate hands wrought harm
To little lives from their own bosoms lent.
But woman still hath loved-if that indeed
Woman e'er loved like me.

She is as constant as the stars
That never vary, and more chaste than they.

Ibid.

Proctor's Mirandola, a. 2, s. 1.

That's false! a truer, nobler, trustier heart,
More loving, or more loyal, never beat
Within a human breast. I would not change
My exiled, persecuted, mangled husband,
Oppress'd, but not disgraced, crush'd, overwhelm'd,
Alive, or dead, for prince or paladin

In story or in fable, with a world

To back his suit. Dishonour'd!-he dishonour'd! I tell thee, Doge, 'tis Venice is dishonour'd.

Byron's Two Foscari, a. 2, s. 1:

Where is honour,

Innate and precept-strengthen'd, 'tis the rock
Of faith connubial : where it is not-where
Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities
Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,
Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know
Twere hopeless for humanity to dream

Of honesty in such infected blood,
Although 'twere wed to him it covets most.

Byron's Doge of Venice, a. 2, s. 1.

Vice cannot fix, and virtue cannot change.
The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;
For vice must have variety, while virtue
Stands like the sun, and all which rolls around
Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect.

lbid.

Adah. Alas! thou sinnest now my Cain; thy words

Sound impious in mine ears.

Cain. Then leave me !

Adah. Never,

Though thy God left thee.

Byron's Cain.

Faithful found

Among the faithless, faithful only he;
Among innumerable false, unmov'd,
Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrify'd

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;

Nor number, nor example with him wrought

To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind

Though single.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 5.

Well hast thou fought

The better fight, who single hast maintain'd
Against revolted multitudes the cause

Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms
And for the testimony of truth has borne
Universal reproach, far worse to bear
Than violence.

Ibid. b. 6.

Confirm'd then I resolve,

Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe :
So dear I love him, that with him all deaths
I could endure, without him live no life.

Ibid. b. 9.

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