LIVING THOUGHTS OF GREAT THINKERS. 791 No man can answer for his own valor or For I am nothing if not critical. courage, till he has been in danger. (Rochefoucauld. I dare do all that may become a man: Who dares do more is none. (Shakespeare. Tender handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. (Aaron Hill. Courage is, on all hands, considered as an essential of high character. (Froude. When desp'rate ills demand a speedy cure, Distrust is cowardice, and prudence folly. (Cam'l Johnson. Cowards (may) fear to die; but courage stout Rather than live in snuff, will be put out. Will never rise to fight again. (Ray. At the bottom of a good deal of the bravery that appears in the world there lurks a miserable cowardice. Men will face powder and steel because they cannot face public opinion. (Chapin. Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base, as soon as I. (Scott. What shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell, Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn There are some critics so with spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal skill, Who pleases one against his will. (Congreve. (Shakespeare. Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer. (Pope. The strength of criticism lies only in the weakness of the thing criticised. (Kavanagh For, poems read without a name How commentators each dark passage shun, (Young. Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true; But are not Critics to their judgment too? (Pope. Attack is the reaction; I never think I have hit hard unless it rebounds. (Sam' Johnson. In every work regard the writer's End, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. (Pope. Abuse is often of service. There is nothing so dangerous to an author as silence. His name, like a shuttle-cock, must be beat backward and forward, or it falls to the ground. (Johnson. With pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critic on the last. (Pope. Reviewers are forever telling authors, they can't understand them. The author might often reply: Is that my fault? (A. W. Hare. The readers and the hearers like my books, But yet some writers cannot them digest; But what care I? for when I make a feast, I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks. (Sir John Harrington. . 792 GEMS FOR THE FIRESIDE. It is much easier to be critical than to be cor- The day was dying, and with feeble hands (Disraeli. Caressed the mountain-tops; the vales be rect. tween Darkened; the river in the meadow-lands Hail, twilight! sovereign of one peaceful The sun is set; and in his latest beams O the wierd northern twilight, which is nei- When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way. (D. M. Mulock. A cloud lay cradled near the setting-sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow, With just enough of learning to misquote; wit; Care not for feeling-pass your proper jest, DAY AND NIGHT. * * * Even in its motion there was rest; * * While (Byron. every blow Wafted the traveler to the beauteous west. (John Wilson. Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm their repose, breath of eve that chanced to the rose ! How blest to the toiler his hour of release peace! But yonder comes the powerful King of Day While the dew drops fall soft in the breast of Rejoicing in the east. (Thomson. Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave; but thou thyself movest alone. (Macpherson. The rising sun complies with our weak sight, First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light At such a distance from our eyes, as though And they were canopied by the blue sky, (Byron. : (Holmes. The day is done and slowly from the scene The stooping sun up-gathers his spent shafts, And puts them back into his golden quiver! (Longfellow. Now in his Palace of the West, Sinking to slumber the bright Day, 'Mid the cool airs of evening lay; The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept- LIVING THOUGHTS OF GREAT THINKERS. The evening came. The setting sun stretched See yonder fire! It is the moon (Longfellow. 793 Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen They gather, and gather, and gather, And listen, in breathless silence, (Longfellow. When I gaze into the stars, they look down The moon was pallid, but not faint; If the stars should appear one night in a 794 GEMS FOR THE FIRESIDE. How beautiful the silent hour, when morning And, as she looked around, she saw how On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. In this dim world of clouding cares, (Gerald Massey. Death hath so many doors to let out life. (Beaumont and Fletcher. Then 'tis our best, since thus ordained to die, To make a virtue of necessity. (Dryden. I have been dying for years, now I shall begin to live. And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. (Mrs. Hemans. Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow. (Young. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? (Gray. We count it death to falter, not to die. (Simonides. There are slave drivers quietly whipt underground, There bookbinders, done up in boards are fast bound, There card-players wait till the last trump be played, There all the choice spirits get finally laid, There the babe, that's unborn is supplied with a berth, There men without legs get their six feet of earth, There lawyers repose, each wrapt up in his case, There seekers of office are sure of a place, There defendant and plaintiff get equally cast, There shoemakers quietly stick to the last. roar: (Last words of Jas. Drummond Burns. Ere well we feel the friendly stroke 'tis o'er. Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood. (Byron. |