THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. 1797-1839.

I'd be a Butterfly; living a rover,
Dying when fair things are fading away.
I'd be a Butterfly.

Oh! no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard ;
My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word.

Oh! no! we never mention her.
We met 't was in a crowd.
We met.
Why don't the men propose, mamma,
Why don't the men propose?
Why don't the men propose?
She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath. Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Long, long ago.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising. O pilot! 't is a fearful night, There's danger on the deep. Absence makes the heart grow fonder; Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Isle of Beauty.

Gayly the Troubadour

Touched his guitar.

The Pilot.

Welcome me home.

JOHN KEBLE. 1796-1821.

Why should we faint and fear to live alone,

Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die, Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh. The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.

'T is sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.

Burial of the Dead.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die. Evening.

BRYAN W. PROCTER.

The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

503

The Sea.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
I am where I would ever be,
With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more.

Ibid.

Ibid.

LORD BROUGHAM.

Let the soldier be abroad if he will, he can do nothing in this age. There is another personage, a personage less imposing in the eyes of some, perhaps insignificant. The schoolmaster is abroad, and I trust to him, armed with his primer, against the soldier in full military array. Speech, January 29, 1828.

In my mind, he was guilty of no error, he was chargeable with no exaggeration, he was betrayed by his fancy into no metaphor, who once said, that all we see about us, Kings, Lords, and Commons, the whole machinery of the state, all the apparatus of the system, and its varied workings, end in simply bringing twelve good men into a box.

Present State of the Law, Feb. 7, 1828. Pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.1

MICHAEL J. BARRY.

But whether on the scaffold high
Or in the battle's van,

The fittest place where man can die
Is where he dies for man!

From The Dublin Nation, Sept. 28, 1844
Vol. ii. p. 809.

1 The title given by Lord Brougham to a book published in 1830, under the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.

Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.

Take away the sword; States can be saved without it; bring the pen ! Ibid.

Richelieu. Act ii. Sc. 2.

In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves
For a bright manhood, there is no such word
As-fail.
Ibid. Act ii. Sc. 2.

505

So idly spoken, and so coldly heard ;

Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word-ALONE! The New Timon. Part ii. 7.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 1797-1835.

I've wandered east, I 've wandered west,
Through many a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The love of life's young day.

And we, with Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonies.

Jeannie Morison.

Ibid.

THOMAS HOOD. 1798-1845.

We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

One more Unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death.

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

The Death-Bed.

The Bridge of Sighs.

Alas for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!

Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Ibid.

Boughs are daily rifled
By the gusty thieves,
And the book of Nature
Getteth short of leaves.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

The Seasons.