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RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 1803-1882.

I wiped away the weeds and foam,

I fetched my sea-born treasures home;

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things

Had left their beauty on the shore,

With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

Each and All. Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought. The Problem.

Out from the heart of Nature rolled

The burdens of the Bible old. Ibid.

The hand that rounded Peter's dome,

And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,

Wrought in a sad sincerity;

Himself from God he could not free;

He buildcd better than he knew; —

The conscious stone to beauty grew. Ibid.

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon

As the best gem upon her zone. Ibid.

Good by, proud world! I 'm going home:

Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine. Good By.

What are they all in their high conceit,

When man in the bush with God may meet? Ibid.

If eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being. The Rhodora.

Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

Hymn Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument. The silent organ loudest chants

The master's requiem. Dirge.

Things are in the saddle,

And ride mankind. Ode, inscribed to W. U. Charming.

Nothing is more simple than greatness; indeed, to be

simple is to be great. Literary Ethics.

Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first

quoter of it.1 Quotation and Originality.

It is as impossible for a man to be cheated by any one but himself, as for a thing to be and not to be at the same time.2 Essay on Compensation.

All mankind love a lover. Essay on Lore.

The alleged power to charm down insanity, or ferocity in beasts, is a power behind the eye. Essay on Behaviour.

Thought is the property of him who can entertain it, and of him who can adequately place it.

Htpresentative Men. Shakespeare.

Is not marriage an open question, when it is alleged, from the beginning of the world, that such as are in the institution wish to get out, and such as are out wish to

get in?' Ibid. Montaigne.

I rarely read any Latin, Greek, German, Italian, sometimes not a French book, in the original, which I

1 There is not less wit, nor less invention, in applying rightly a thought one finds in a book, than in being the first author of that thought. Cardinal du Perron has been heard to say that the happy application of a verse of Virgil has deserved a talent. — Bayle, Vol. ii. p. 779.

2 Man wird nie betrogen; man betriigt sieh selbst. We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves.

Goethe, Maxims, Vol. iii. p. 219. * Compare John Webster. Page 167.

534 EMERSON.— JEFFERYS.

can procure in a good version I should as soon

think of swimming across Charles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books in originals, when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue. Books.

CHARLES JEFFERYS. 1807-1865.

Come o'er the moonlit sea,

The waves are brightly glowing. The Moonlit Sea.

The morn was fair, the skies were clear,

No breath came o'er the sea. The Rose of Allandale.

Meek and lowly, pure and holy,

Chief among the "blessed three." Charity.

Come, wander with me, for the moonbeams are bright. On river and forest, o'er mountain and lea.

Come, wander with me. A word in season spoken May calm the troubled breast. A word in season.

The bud is on the bough again,

The leaf is on the tree.

The Meeting of Spring and Summer.

I have heard the mavis singing

Its love-song to the morn;
I 've seen the dew-drop clinging

To the rose just newly born. Mary o/Argyle.

We have lived and loved together

Through many changing years.
We have shared each other's gladness,

And wept each other's tears.

We have lived and loved together.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 1807-1882. Look, then, into thine heart, and write !l

Voices of the Night. Prelude. Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

"Life is but an empty dream!"" For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.1 A Psalm of Life.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,4

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave. Ibid.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead! Ibid.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time. Ibid.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;6 Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour, and to wait. Ibid.

1 Fool! said my muse to me, look in thy heart, and write.

Sidney, Astrophel and Stella, i.

2 Singet nicht in Trauertiinen Von der Einsamkeit der Nacht.

Song ofPhiline in Wilhelm Meister. 1 Non semper ea sunt quae videntur. — Phaidrus, Book \\. Fable i. * Ars longa, vita brevis. — Hippocrates, Aphorisms i. Die Kunst ist lang, das Leben kiirz.

Goethe, Wilhelm Meister, vii. 9. 6 Compare Byron, To Moore. Page 484.

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,1

And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

The Reaper and the Flowers. The star of the unconquered will. The Light of Stars.

O, fear not in a world like this,

And thou shalt know erelong, — Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong. Ibid.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwrlleth by the castled Rhine,

When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,

Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Flowers.

The hooded clouds, like friars,

Tell their beads in drops of rain. Midnight Mass.

No tears

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

Sunrise on the If ills.

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own. Endymion.

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary. The Rainy Day.

For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest! 2

/( is not always May.

1 Es ist cin Schnitter, hcisst der Tod. — Erntelicd. From Des Knaben Wunderhorn (Arnim and Brentano), cd. 1857, Vol. i. p. 59.

1 Pues ya en los nidos de antafio, no hay pajaros ogano.— Cervantes, Don Quijote, Part i. Book iv. Ch. 2.

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