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S. T. COLERIDGE,

ST. PETER'S AT ROME.

A LADY'S CHAMBER. Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonize, The moon shines dim in the open air, All musical in its immensities;

And not a moonbeam enters here. Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where But they without its light can see flame

The chamber carved so curiously,
The lamps of gold, and haughty dome which Carved with figures strange and sweet,

All made out of the carver's brain,
In air with earth's chief structures, though For a lady's chamber meet :
their frame

The lamp with twofold silver chain Sits on the firm-set ground, -- and this the cloud Is fastened to an angel's feet. must claim.

The silver lamp burns dead and dim;

But Christabel the lamp will trim. . Here condense thy soul She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, To more immediate objects, and control And left it swinging to and fro, Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Its eloquent proportions, and unroll

Sank down upon the floor below.
In mighty graduations, part by part,

Christabel.
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart.
Childe Harold, Cant. iv.

BYRON.

Music.
Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould

Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ?
THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.

Sure something holy lodges in that breast, Or view the lord of the unerring bow,

And with these raptures moves the vocal air The god of life, and poesy, and light, - To testify his hidden residence.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings All radiant from his triumph in the fight; Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, The shaft hath just been shot, – the arrow At every fall smoothing the raven down bright

Of darkness till it smiled. With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye

MILTON. And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by,

PERFECTION. Developing in that one glance the Deity.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,

To throw a perfume on the violet, But in his delicate form -- a dream of love,

To smooth the ice, or add another hue Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast

Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light Longed for a deathless lover from above,

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, And maddened in that vision — are exprest

Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
All that ideal beauty ever blessed

King John, Act iv. Sc. 2.
The mind with in its most unearthly mood,
When each conception was a heavenly guest,

ANTHOLOGY.
A ray of immortality, and stood,
Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god! Infinite riches in a little room,
Childe Harold, Cant ir.
BYRON. 1 The Few of Malta, Acti.

C. MARLOWE,

Comus.

SHAKESPEARE.

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In This, I fondly hoped to clash, a friend whom Dealk alone coulds but my with malignant Grash, Has torn this from my Breast forever

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I neither seeke by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to breed offence.
Thus do I live ; thus will I die ;
Would all did so as well as I !

SIR EDWARD DYER.*

Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well twice runs his race.

And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, this happy state,
I would not fear, nor wish, my fate;

But boldly say each night,
To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them ; I have lived to-day.

ABRAHAM, COWLEY.

TO THE HON. CHARLES MONTAGUE.
Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim

At objects in an airy height;
But all the pleasure of the game

Is afar off to view the flight.

BEAUTY.

The worthless prey but only shows

The joy consisted in the strife ; Whate'er we take, as soon we lose

In Homer's riddle and in life.

So, whilst in feverish sleeps we think

We taste what waking we desire, The dream is better than the drink,

Which only feeds the sickly fire.

'T is much immortal beauty to admire,
But more immortal beauty to withstand;
The perfect soul can overcome desire,
If beauty with divine delight be scanned.
For what is beauty but the blooming child
Of fair Olympus, that in night must end,
And be forever from that bliss exiled,
If admiration stand too much its friend ?
The wind may be enamored of a flower,
The ocean of the green and laughing shore,
The silver lightning of a lofty tower, —
But must not with too near a love adore ;
Or flower and margin and cloud-capped tower
Love and delight shall with delight devour !

LORD EDWARD THURLOW.

To the mind's eye things well appear,

At distance through an artful glass ; Bring but the flattering objects near,

They're all a senseless gloomy mass.

Seeing aright, we see our woes :

Then what avails it to have eyes ? From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

BEAUTY.

FROM HYMN IN HONOR OF BEAUTY."

So every spirit, as it is most pure,
OF MYSELF.

And hath in it the more of heavenly light,

So it the fairer body doth procure
This only grant me, that my means may lie To habit in, and it more fairly dight
Too low for envy, for contempt too high. With cheerful grace and amiable sight;
Some honor I would have,

For of the soul the body form doth take ; Not from great deeds, but good alone;

For soul is form, and doth the body make.
The unknown are better than ill known :
Rumor can ope the grave.

Therefore wherever that thou dost behold
Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends
Not on the number, but the choice, of friends.

Know this for certain, that the same doth hold

A beauteous soul, with fair conditions thewed, Books should, not business, entertain the light,

Fit to receive the seed of virtue strewed ; And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night.

For all that fair is, is by nature good ;
My house a cottage more

That is a sign to know the gentle blood.
Than palace; and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxury.
My garden painted o’er

Yet oft it falls that many a gentle mind
With Nature's hand, not Art's; and pleasures

Dwells in deformed tabernacle drowned, yield,

Either by chance, against the course of kind, Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

Or through unaptnesse in the substance found,

Which it assumed of some stubborne ground, * This is frequently attributed to William Byrd. Bartlett, how ever, gives it to Sir Edward Dyer, referring to Hannah's Courtly Poets as authority; so, also, Ward, in his English Poets, Vol. I., 1880. | But is performed with some foul imperfection.

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