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HAD I but pearls of price-did golden piles
Of hoarded wealth swell in my treasury,
Easy I'd win the fawning flatterer's smiles,
And bend the sturdiest stoic's iron knee.

A blessed thing the golden sun,

645

A. A. Locke.

That kisseth morning's dews away;
A blessed thing the dews, which run
O'er bud and blade at close of day,
To give them bloom and bid them be
Fair gems in nature's treasury.

TREE.

Calder Campbell.

THE garden trees are busy with the shower
That fell ere sunset: now methinks they talk,
Lowly and sweetly, as befits the hour,

One to another down the grassy walk.
Hark! the laburnum from his opening flower
This cherry creeper greets in whispers light,
While the grim fir, rejoicing in the night,
Hoarse mutters to the murmuring sycamore.
What shall I deem their converse? would they hail
The wild grey light that fronts yon massive cloud,
Or the half bow, rising like pillared fire?
Or are they sighing faintly for desire

That with May dawn their leaves be not o'erflowed, And dews about their feet may never fail.

A. H. Hallam.

There grew a tree, a lofty spreading tree,
And high in air it reared its branching head,
And oft beneath its leafy canopy

Our hours would pass, which converse sweetly made
A cup of pleasure, quaffed beneath its shade;

And fairy music oft the branches threw,

By winds relieved, whose breezes, as they played,
Gave tones of thrilling softness, such as drew
The humble hoping heart its sorrows to subdue.
Stuart Farquharson.

646

TRIBULATION.

TRIFLES.

TRIBULATION.

BEWARE of too sublime a sense
Of your own worth and consequence!
The man who dreams himself so great,
And his importance of such weight,
That all around, in all that's done,
Must move and act for him alone,
Will learn in school of tribulation
The folly of his expectation.

When the clouds have poured their rain,
Sweeter smell the flowers;

Brightest shine heaven's starry train
In earth's sunless hours.

Tribulation-patience works,
Hope from hence we borrow,
Such the hidden good that lurks
In dark days of sorrow.

Cowper.

B. Barton.

Mine be the holy humble tribulation,
No longer feigned distress, fantastic woe;-
I know my griefs, but then my consolation-
My trust and my immortal hopes-I know.
Caroline Bowles.

TRIFLES.

Ir is a note

Of upstart greatness to observe and watch
For those poor trifles, which the noble mind
Neglects and scorns.

Ben Jonson.

Mankind, tho' satirists with jobations weary us,
Has only two weak parts if fairly reckon'd;
The first of which, is trifling with things serious;
And seriousness in trifles is the second.
Remove these little rubs, whoe'er knows how,
And fools will be as scarce,-as wise men now.

Bishop.

TRIUMPH.

TRUST.

647

TRIUMPH.

GREAT minds erect their never-failing trophies
On the firm base of mercy; but to triumph
Over a suppliant, by proud fortune captivated,
Argues a bastard conquest.

Great conquerors greater glory gain
By foes in triumph led than slain;
The laurels that adorn their brows,

Massinger.

Are pull'd from living, not dead, boughs. Butler. City, country, all,

Is in gay triumph tempest toss'd,

I scarce could press along. The trumpet's voice
Is lost in loud repeated shouts, that raise
Your name to heaven.

Thomson.

TRUST.

I WILL believe

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee.

Shakspere.

Put not thy trust in such as use to feign,
Except thou mind to put thy friend to pain.
Sir T. Wyatt.

Learn to dissemble wrongs, to smile at injuries,
And suffer crimes thou want'st the power to punish:
Be easy, affable, familiar, friendly:

Search, and know all mankind's mysterious ways; But trust the secret of thy soul to none.

This is the way,

This only, to be safe in such a world as this is.

Rowe.

There are three things a wise man will not trust:
The wind, the sunshine of an April day,
And woman's plighted faith.

Southey.

Oh, woe, deep woe, to earthly love's fond trust,
When all it once has worshipp'd lies in dust!
Mrs. E. C. Embury.

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WHILE others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
While some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth, the moral of my wit,
To plain and true; there's all the reach of it.
Shakspere.

Truth, like a single point, escapes the sight,
And claims attention to perceive it right;
But what resembles Truth is soon descry'd,
Spreads like a surface, and expanded wide.
The first man rarely, very rarely finds
The tedious search of long inquiring minds;
But yet what's worse, we know not what we err:
What mark does Truth, what bright distinction bear?
How do we know that what we know is true?
How shall we falsehood fly, and Truth pursue?

Pomfret. If truth be with thy friend, be with them both: Share in the conquest, and confess a troth.

It is not in the power

Herbert.

Of painting or of sculpture to express
Aught so divine as the fair form of Truth!
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul.

Cumberland.

'Tis strange but true; for truth is always strange,
Stranger than fiction. If it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!

Byron.

Truth only needs to be for once spoke out
And there's such music in her, such strange rhythm,
As makes men's memories her joyous slaves,
And cling around the soul, as the sky clings
Round the mute earth for ever beautiful.

Anon.

TURMOIL. TWILIGHT. TWO.

649

TURMOIL.

THRICE happy you that look as from the shore,
And have no venture in the wreck you see;
No interest, no occasion to deplore

Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free. How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be:

Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil,
Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.

Samuel Daniel.

TWILIGHT.

WHEN pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star;
Above, below, aërial murmurs swell,

From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell!
A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light,
Stealing soft music on the ear of night.

Rogers.

O Twilight! spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments-melting heaven to earth-
Leaving on craggy hills, and running streams,
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.

Mrs. Norton.

TWO.

So a fond pair of solemn birds, all day,
Blink in their seat, and doze the hours away;
Then by the moon awaken'd, forth they move,
And fright the songsters with their cheerless love.
So two sear trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,
Each other catch, when falling to the ground;
Entwine their wither'd arms 'gainst wind and weather,
And shake their leafless heads and drop together.
So two cold limbs, touched by Galvani's wire,
Move with new life, and feel awaken'd fire;
Quivering awhile their placid forms remain,
Then turn to cold torpidity again,

Crabbe.

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