storm.

The stranger's step profan'd his desolate halls,
An exil'd, 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 follow'd him ;
For fear had wither'd every heart but hers,
Who amid shame and ruin lov'd him better.

Maturin's Bertram.
Ah! then as nature's tenderest impulse wrought,
With fond solicitude of love she sought
To soothe his limbs upon their grassy bed,
And make the pillow easy to his head;
She wiped his reeking temples with her hair,
She shook the leaves to stir the sleeping air,
Moisten'd his lips with kisses; with her breath,
Vainly essay'd to quell the fire of death,
That ran and revell'd through his swollen veins
With quicker pulses, and severer pains.

Oh! the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sun-flower turns to her god when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

Moore,

Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer!
Tho' the herd hath fled from thee, thy home is still
here;

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last?
Moore.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd, thou never could'st shake,
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 't was not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.

Then let the fool, still prone to range
And sneer on all who cannot change,
Partake his jest with boasting boys,
I envy not his varied joys,

Montgomery's World before the Flood. But deem such feeble, heartless man,

Thought ye your iron hands of pride
Could break the knot that love had tied?
No: let the eagle change his plume,
The leaf its hue, the flow'r its bloom;
But ties around this heart were spun,
That could not, would not, be undone !

Campbell.
Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same
Thro' joy, and thro' torments, thro' glory and shame?
Moore.

Oh! if there be an elysium on earth,

It is this

When two that are link'd in one heavenly tie,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die.

me,

Less than yon solitary swan;

Far, far beneath the shallow maid

He left believing, and betray'd.

Byron

Byron's Giaour

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 disgrac'd, 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, 't is Venice is dishonour'd.
Byron's Tico Foscari,
Where is honour,
Innate and precept-strengthen'd, 't is the rock
where
Of faith connubial: where it is not
Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities

Moore.
Believe if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and melt in my Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,

arms,

Like fairy-gifts, fading away!

Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know
'T were hopeless for humanity to dream

Thou would'st still be ador'd, as this moment thou Of honesty in such infected blood,
art,

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

Although 't were wed to him it covets most.
Byron's Doge of Venice.

And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart Vice cannot fix, and virtue cannot change,
Would entwine itself verdantly still!

It is not, while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!

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
Byron's Doge of Venice

FIGHTING-FIRMNESS-FISHING-FLAG.

Only more beautiful made by his death-like silence And they 're leagued in as true and as holy a tie

FLATTERY. FLATTERER.

180
Bright flag at yonder tapering mast,
Fling out your field of azure blue;
Let star and stripe be westward cast,

And point as Freedom's eagle flew !
Strain home! O lithe and quivering spars!
Point home my country's flag of stars!

Mirror for Magistrates.

If sly dissimulation credit win
With any prince that sits on highest throne,
With honey'd poison of sour sugar'd sin,
It causeth him turn tyrant to his own,
And to his state works swift confusion;
Above his cedar's top it high doth shoot,
And canker-like devours it to the root.

Mirror for Magistrates.
Of all wild beasts, preserve me from a tyrant;
And of all tame - a flatterer.

Jonson's Sejanus.
'Tis the fate of princes, that no knowledge
Comes pure to them, but, passing through the eyes
And ears of other men, it takes a tincture
From every channel; and still bears a relish
Of flattery or private ends.

Denham's Sophy.

Self-love never yet could look on truth, But with blear'd beams; slick flattery and she Are twin-born sisters, and so mix their eyes, And if you sever one, the other dies.

O thou world, great nurse of flattery,

words,

In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say, this man's a flatterer? if one be,
So are they all; for every grize of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany.

Shaks. Timon of Athens.
Why these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou 'lt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent.

Shaks. Timon of Athens.
He loves to hear,

That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flatter'd.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Be not fond,

To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood,
That will be thaw'd from the true quality
With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet
words,

Low-crook'd curt'sics, and base spaniel fawning.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.

Nay, do not think I flatter:

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
Ben Jonson. To feed, and clothe thee? why should the poor be

flatter'd?

Why dost thou tip men's tongues with golden No, let the candy'd tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.

And poise their deeds with weight of heavy lead,
That fair performance cannot follow promise?
( that a man might hold the heart's close book
And choke the lavish tongue, when it doth utter
The breath of falsehood, not character'd there.
Anon. Edward III.

Why what a deal of candied courtesy,
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look --when his infant fortune came to age,
And-gentle Harry Percy, and, kind cousin,
The devil take such cozeners!-God forgive me!
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.

me.

You play the spaniel,

Shaks. Hamlet.

And think with wagging of your tongue to win
Shaks. Henry VIIL
You are far too prodigal in praise,
And crown me with the garlands of your merit;
As we meet barks on rivers-the strong gale
Being best friend to us-our swift motion
Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows;
Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes
Davenport's City Night-Cap.

FLATTERY.

Give me flatt'ry;

Flatt'ry, the food of courts! that I may rock him,
And lull him in down of his desires.

The firmest purpose of a woman's heart
To well-tim'd, artful flattery may yield.

Lillo's Elmerick.

There are, who to my person pay their court;
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Beaumont's Rolla. Such Ovid's nose, and, sir! you have an eye!
Go on, obliging creature, make me see,
All that disgrac'd my betters, met in me;
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just so immortal Maro held his head;
And when I die, be sure you let me know,
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.
Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;
And the weak soul within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.

Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds,
Pernicious flattery! thy malignant seeds,
In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand,
Sadly diffus'd o'er virtue's gleby land,
With rising pride amidst the corn appear,
And choke the hopes and harvest of the year.
Prior's Soloman.
No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by 't:
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.

If thou hast flatt'ry in thy nature, out with 't;
Or send it to a court, for there 't will thrive.
Otway's Orphan.
Let me be grateful; but let far from me
Be fawning cringe, and false dissembling look,
And servile flattery, that harbours oft
In courts and gilded roofs.

Goldsmith's Traveller.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
Goldsmith's Retaliation.

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judg'd without skill he was still hard
of hearing;

Philips's Cider. When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios and

O flatt'ry!
How soon thy smooth insinuating oil
Supples the toughest fool!

stuff,

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.
Goldsmith's Retaliation.
Flatt'ry but ill becomes a soldier's mouth;
Leave we the practice of those meaner arts
To smooth-tongued statesmen, and betraying cour-
tiers.
Marsh's Amasis.

Fenton.

Whose shrine it would perfume.

His fiery temper brooks not opposition,
And must be met with soft and supple arts,
With crouching courtesy, and honey'd words,
Such as assuage the fierce, and bend the strong.
Rowe's Lady Jane Grey.
Minds,
By nature great, are conscious of their greatness,
And hold it mean to borrow aught from flattery.
Rowe's Royal Convert.

Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we see,
And (stranger still!) of blockhead's flattery,
Whose praise defames; as if a fool should mean,
By spitting on your face, to make it clean.

Young's Love of Fame.

"Tis an old maxim in the schools,
That flattery's the food of fools,
Yet now and then you men of wit
Will condescend to take a bit.

Hold, Pharnaces!

No adulation; 't is the death of virtue!
Who flatters is of all mankind the lowest,
Save he who courts the flatterer.

Hannah More's Daniel.

I pass through flattery's gilded sieve
Whatever I would say.

Alas! the praise given to the ear
Ne'er was nor ne'er can be sincere.

I would give worlds, could I believe
One half that is profess'd me;
Affection! could I think it Thee,
When Flattery has caress'd me.

Oh! it is worse than mockery
To list the flatterer's tone,

Swift's Cadenus and Vanessa. To lend a ready ear to thoughts

Sirs, adulation is a fatal thing—
Rank poison for a subject, or a king.

Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.

The cheek must blush to own --
To hear the red lip whisper'd of,
And the flowing curl and eye

Miss Landon.

Miss Landon.

Miss Landim