TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

More detail can be found at the [end of the book.]

THE FOLLOWING PAGES,

ORIGINALLY INTENDED FOR THEIR AMUSEMENT,

ARE DEDICATED TO

MY CHILDREN.

ORACLES FROM THE POETS.

I am Sir Oracle,

And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.

Merchant of Venice.

ORACLES FROM THE POETS:

A FANCIFUL DIVERSION

FOR

THE DRAWING-ROOM.

BY

CAROLINE GILMAN.

The enthusiast Sybil there divinely taught,

Writes on loose foliage inspiration's thought.

She sings the fates, and in her frantic fits

The notes and names inscribed to leaves commits.

Dryden's and Symmon's Virgil.

Macbeth. I conjure you, by that which you profess,

(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me.

First Witch. Speak.

Second Witch. Demand.

Third Witch. We'll answer.

NEW YORK:

JOHN WILEY

(OLD STAND OF "WILEY AND PUTNAM"),

161 BROADWAY: AND PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

1848.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844,
By WILEY & PUTNAM.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

Stereotyped by

RICHARD C. VALENTINE,

45 Gold-street, New York.

PREFACE.

I was led to arrange "The Oracles from the Poets," by observing the vivid interest taken by persons of all ages in a very common-place Fortune-Teller in the hands of a young girl. It occurred to me that I might avail myself of this love of the mysterious, for the intellectual enjoyment of my family circle.

Instead, however, of the pastime of a few days, it has been the work of every leisure moment for six months. The first movement was the pebble thrown into the stream; circle after circle formed, until I found, with old Thomas Heywood,

"My pen was dipt

As well in opening each hid manuscript,

As tracts more vulgar, whether read or sung

In our domestic or more foreign tongue."

How rich these six months have been in the purest and highest enjoyment, I will not stop to say; but to be allowed to float in such an atmosphere, buoyed up with the sweetest sympathies of friends, may be conceived to be no common happiness. And now, with the hope of communicating a portion of this pleasure more extensively, I yield this volume up as a public offering, for the advancement of those rational social enjoyments which seem to belong to the moral movement of the age.

I do not know how far early associations may have influenced me, but I distinctly recollect the first Oracle of my childhood. At the age of eight years I attended a female seminary in a village. The classes were allowed a half hour for recreation, and they usually played on the green within view of the academy building. One day I observed a group of girls of the senior class pass beyond the bounds and enter the church, which was opened for some approaching occasional service. I followed quietly. They walked through the aisle with agitated whispers, and ascended to the pulpit. Then each, in turn, opening the large Bible, laid a finger, with closed eyes, on a verse, and read it aloud, as indicating her fate or character.

I well remember the eagerness with which I listened on the stairs, for I was afraid to crowd into the pulpit with the big girls. As they retired, I entered. I can recall the timid feeling with which I glanced round the shadowy building, the awe with which I closed my eyes and placed my small finger on the broad page, and the faith with which I read my Oracle.

I must make an early apology for venturing to alter the tenses of authors so as to conform to answers. I tried the method of literal extracts, but they were deficient in spirit and directness. I can now only warn my readers not to quote the Oracles habitually, as exact transcripts, but resort to the originals. I have trembled as if it were sacrilege to turn thus the streams of Helicon into this little channel, but I hope the evil may be balanced by the increased acquaintance of many with slighted authors.

I have not allowed myself to select from periodicals, though American journals contain perhaps more favorable specimens of our literature than the published volumes to which I have felt bound to confine myself.

My selections have extended so far beyond the limits of my plan, that I propose furnishing another volume, in the course of the year, with additional questions, including translations from popular authors. One question in the present volume, To what have you a distaste or aversion? is, I think, nearly exhausted, while its opposite, What gratifies your taste or affections? presents still an ample field for gleaning. Will this furnish any argument against those ascetics, who think misery preponderates over happiness? One fanciful question in the succeeding volume will be, What is the name of your Lady-love? and another, Of him who loves you?

I shall consider with respectful attention friendly suggestions made to me directly, or through my publishers, preparatory to the arrangement of another volume, particularly in bringing to view any poet, who, by accident, may have escaped attention.

I have been urged to communicate, in a preface, the literary results which have necessarily flowed from the examination and comparison of such a mass of poets, but the task is beyond the limits of this humble effort. It would, indeed, be a rich field for a Schlegel or De Stäel.

A few curious speculations, however, may present themselves to the most superficial critic. In Shakspeare, for instance, so affluent in various delineations of character and personal appearance, I looked in vain for places of residence. There seemed not to be even a fair proportion of passages descriptive of musical sounds, hours, seasons, and (except in The Winter's Tale) of flowers.

In Wordsworth, scarcely a flower or musical sound is described. They are alluded to, but not painted out. The poetry of Crabbe, though abounding in numerous characters, could surrender almost none for my purpose, on account of their being woven into the general strain of his narratives. Shelley, Landon, and Howitt, are eminently the poets of flowers, while Darwin, with a whole Botanic Garden before him, and Mason, in his English Garden, gave me, I think, none that I conceived fairly entitled to selection.

Few passages of any sort, except those hackneyed into adages, could be gained from Milton, on account of the abstract, lofty, and continuous flow of his diction. Coleridge has corresponding peculiarities.

Keats and Shelley are the poets of the heavens. Byron, with faint exceptions, does not describe a flower, or musical sound, or place of residence.

The American poets, in contradistinction to their elder and superior brethren of the fatherland, display a more marked devotion to nature, with which a continual glow of religious sentiment aptly harmonizes.

But I am recalled by these lengthening paragraphs to my disclaimer, and only wish that an abler and more philosophical pen than mine could take my recent experience.

After a close examination of the earlier dramatic poets, though I have rescued from them some exquisite gems, it seems to me far from desirable that they should be brought forward as prominently as many of their wordy commentators desire. A kind of pure instinct in the British taste has placed Shakspeare without a brother on the throne. The fathers of dramatic poetry acted according to their light, but it was not the "true light." A few relics, selected with caution, may honor their memory, but we should be careful while warning our youth against the impurities of some modern poets, how we extol these vulgarities of a darker moral age.

Before parting I must ask clemency for classing all my authors among Poets, that great word so deservedly sacred, and to which I bow with deep reverence; but the Parnassus of my Oracles has many steps, and I cannot but feel kindly towards those, who sit gracefully even on the lower platform, nor apprehend that they will do more than look up deferentially to the laurel-crowned worthies at its summit. Besides, it has been the character of my taste, or perhaps philosophy, whenever literally or figuratively I gather a wreath of flowers, to twine the wild blossom as heartily as the exotic, and even insert a weed, if its color or contrast lends beauty to the combination;—and thus with my Oracles.

CATALOGUE OF AUTHORS

QUOTED IN THE ORACLES.

ENGLISH.

• Akenside
• Addison
• 
  
• Bloomfield
• Bowring
• Bayley
• Barbauld
• Burns
• Beattie
• Byron
• Bowles
• Baillie
• Barton
• Browne
• Butler
• Beaumont and Fletcher
• 
  
• Croly
• Cowper
• Carew
• Cowley
• Collins
• Congreve
• Campbell
• Chatterton

• Cibber
• Cunningham
• Cook
• Coleridge
• Crabbe
• Cornwall
• Cumberland
• Chaucer
• Coleman
• Clark
• Churchill
• Carrington
• Crashaw
• 
  
• Dryden
• Darwin
• 
  
• Elliott
• 
  
• Ferguson
• Falconer
• 
  
• Gray
• Goldsmith
• Gay

• Gisborne
• Grahame
• 
  
• Howitt
• Hemans
• Home
• Habington
• Hunt
• Hogg
• Hayley
• Hammond
• Hastings
• Herbert
• Hood
• 
  
• King James
• Johnson
• Jones
• Jonson
• 
  
• Keats
• Kemble
• 
  
• Landon
• Lee
• Lamb
• Lyttleton
• 
  
• Miller
• Motherwell
• Massinger
• Moore
• Milton
• Mitford

• More
• Mason
• Murphy
• Massinger
• Milman
• Montgomery
• Mackenzie
• Macaulay
• Macneil
• Maturin
• 
  
• Norton
• 
  
• Ossian
• 
  
• Pollok
• Pope
• Prior
• Pomfret
• Percy's Reliques
• 
  
• Ramsay
• Rowe
• Rogers
• Roscoe
• 
  
• Shelley
• Shakspeare
• Southey
• Sheridan
• Spenser
• Sotheby
• Sterling
• Shenstone

• Swift
• Scott
• Smith
• Somerville
• 
  
• Taylor, John
• Tennent
• Thomson
• Tighe
• Talfourd
• Tennyson
• Tobin
• Taylor
• Thom

• Vaux
• 
  
• Wordsworth
• Wilson
• Williams
• White
• Wotton
• Warton
• Watts
• Wolcott
• Webster
• 
  
• Young

AMERICAN.

• Aldrich
• 
  
• Bryant
• Brooks
• Bulfinch
• Benjamin
• Burleigh
• Bancroft
• Brainard
• 
  
• Charlton
• Clark
• Carey
• Coxe
• Cranch
• Child
• Crafts

• Dana, Mrs.
• Davidson, M.
• Dana, R. H.
• Drake
• Dawes
• Davidson, L.
• Dinnies
• Dickson
• Doane
• 
  
• Embury
• Emerson
• Ellet
• 
  
• Follen
• Fairfield
• Fay

• Gallagher
• Gould
• Gilman, S.
• Goodrich
• Gilman, C.
• Greene
• 
  
• Holmes
• Hill
• Harvey
• Halleck
• Hillhouse
• Hale
• Hosmer
• Harrington
• 
  
• James
• 
  
• Lee
• Longfellow
• Lowell
• Lewis
• Lunt
• 
  
• McLellan
• Morris
• Mellen
• Moise
• Miller
• 
  
• Neal
• Noble
• Nack

• Osgood
• 
  
• Percival
• Peters
• Pierpont
• Prentice
• Peabody
• Pierson
• Pike
• Payne
• 
  
• Smith
• Street
• Simms
• Sargent
• Sands
• Sigourney
• Sprague
• Scott
• 
  
• Tuckerman
• 
  
• Willis
• Whittier
• Ware, H.
• Wells
• Welby
• Mrs. Ware
• Wilde
• Whitman
• Wilcox
• Woodworth

The Game of the Oracles is composed of the following fourteen Questions, with sixty Answers each, numbered.

DIRECTIONS

FOR THE GAME OF THE ORACLES FROM THE POETS.

FOR A FORTUNE-TELLER WITH TWO PERSONS.

The person who holds the book asks, for instance, What is your character? The individual questioned selects any one of the sixty answers under that head, say No. 3, and the questioner reads aloud the answer No. 3, which will be the Oracle.

FOR A ROUND GAME.

Where there are more than six persons present, it will be well to select the following questions, as the game, connected with the discussions to which it will probably give rise, will be too protracted by introducing the whole, and the remaining questions are of a sentimental rather than personal class.

A questioner having been selected, he calls on each individual to choose a number under the question proposed, and reads each answer aloud as the number is mentioned. If the party agree to the arrangement, the author of the Oracle can be demanded by the questioner, and a forfeit paid in case of ignorance, or a premium given for a correct answer.

If the person whose Oracle is read cannot tell the author, any one of the party may be allowed a trial in turn, and receive the premium.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?

GENTLEMAN.

All our knowledge is ourselves to know.

Pope.

Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us,

To see oursels as others see us;

It wad frae monie a blunder free us

And foolish notion!

Burns.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?

GENTLEMAN.

You kiss not where you wish to kill,

You feign not love where most you hate,

You break no sleep to win your will,

You wait not at the mighty's gate.

Lord Vaux.

2. E'en your failings lean to virtue's side.

Goldsmith.

3. Polite, yet virtuous, you have brought away

The manners, not the morals of the day.

Cowper.

4. Thou art slow to science; the chart and letter'd page

Have in them no deep spell whereby thy spirit to engage;

But rather thou wouldst sail thy boat, or sound thy bugle-horn,

Or track the sportsman's triumph through the fields of waving corn,

Than o'er the ponderous histories of other ages bend,

Or dwell upon the sweetest page that ever poet penn'd.

Mrs. Norton.

5. A spider you may best be liken'd to,

Which creature is an adept, not alone

In workmanship of nice geometry,

But is beside a wary politician.

Taylor.

6. I know thee brave,—

A counsellor subtle, and a leader proved,—

With wisdom fitting for a king's right hand;

Firm in resolve, nor from thy purpose moved:

Then what lack'st thou to render thee beloved?

Thou'st wooed and won a gentle heart, and more,—

Hast trampled it to dust.

Allan Cunningham.

7. I would rather wed a man of dough,

Such as some school-girl, when the pie is made,

To amuse her childish fancy, kneads at hazard

Out of the remnant paste.

John Tobin.

8. Thou, with a lofty soul, whose course

The thoughtless oft condemn,

Art touch'd by many airs from heaven

Which never breathe on them.

Moved too by many impulses,

Which they do never know,

Who round their earth-bound circles plod

The dusty paths below.

Albert G. Greene.

9. You look the whole world in the face,

For you owe not any man.

Longfellow.

10. You loiter, lounge, are lank and lazy,

Though nothing ails you, yet uneasy;

Your days insipid, dull, and tasteless,

Your nights unquiet, long, and restless;

And e'en your sports at balls and races,

Your galloping through public places,

Have sic parade, and pomp, and art,

The joy can scarcely reach the heart.

Burns—Twa Dogs.

11. Thou'st never bent at glory's shrine,

To wealth thou'st never bow'd the knee,

Beauty has heard no vows of thine,

Thou lovest ease.

R. H. Wilde.

12. A gentleman of all Temperance.

Measure for Measure.

13. You are positive and fretful,

Heedless, ignorant, forgetful.

Swift.

14. There is one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches,

The secret of their mastery—they're short.

Halleck.

15. For contemplation framed,

Shy and unpractised in the strife of phrase,

Yours is the language of the heavens, the power,

The thought, the image, and the silent joy.

Words are but under-agents in your soul.

Wordsworth.

16. You take delight in others' excellence,

A gift which nature rarely doth dispense;

Of all that breathe, 'tis you, perhaps, alone,

Would be well pleased to see yourself outdone.

Young—Epistles.

17. You are the Punch to stir up trouble,

You wriggle, fidge, and make a riot,

Put all your brother puppets out.

Swift.

18. You'd shake hands with a king upon his throne,

And think it kindness to his majesty.

Halleck.

19. The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,

You fear to scorn or hate;

But honor in a peasant's form

The equal of the great.

Ebenezer Elliott.

20. You may be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life,

But will not love the revel scene or head the brawling strife.

Eliza Cook.

21. You are one,

Who can play off your smiles and courtesies

To every lady, of her lap-dog tired,

Who wants a plaything.

Southey.

22. Come, rouse thee now;—I know thy mind,

And would its strength awaken;

Proud, gifted, noble, ardent, kind.

Anna P. Dinnies.

23. In choice

Of morsels for the body, nice are you,

And scrupulous;—

And every composition know

Of cookery.

Pollok—Course of Time.

24. A man thou seem'st of cheerful yesterdays,

And confident to-morrows.

Wordsworth.

25. Sir, I confess you to be one well read

In men and manners, and that usually

The most ungovern'd persons, you being present,

Rather subject themselves unto your censure,

Than give you least occasion of distaste,

By making you the subject of their mirth.

Ben Jonson.

26. When nae real ills perplex you,

You make enow yoursel' to vex you.

Burns.

27. You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

Merchant of Venice.

28. Calm, serene,

Your thoughts are clear and honest, and your words,

Still chosen most gently, are not yet disguised

To please the ear of tingling vanity.

W. G. Simms.

29. Large is your bounty, and your soul sincere;

Heaven does a recompense as largely send:

You give to misery all you have—a tear;

You gain from heaven, 'tis all you ask—a friend.

Gray.

30. You worship God with inward zeal, and serve him in each deed;

Yet will not blame another's faith, nor have one martyr bleed.

Eliza Cook.

31. Silent when glad, affectionate though shy;

And now your look is most demurely sad;

And now you laugh aloud, yet none know why,—

Some deem you wondrous wise, and some believe you mad.

Beattie—Minstrel.

32. You act upon the prudent plan,

"Say little, and hear all you can:"

Safe policy, but hateful.

Cowper.

33. You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, generally allowed for your many warlike, courtlike, and learned preparations.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

34. So gentle, yet so brisk, so wondrous sweet,

Just fit to prattle at a lady's feet.

Churchill.

35. Lord of yourself, though not of lands,

You, having nothing, yet have all.

Sir Henry Wotton.

36. No change comes o'er thy noble brow,

Though ruin is around thee;

Thine eye-beam burns as proudly now

As when the laurel crown'd thee.

Mrs. Child.

37. Some have too much, yet still they crave;

You little have, yet seek no more;

They are but poor, though much they have,

And you are rich with little store.

They poor, you rich; they beg, you give;

They lack, you lend; they pine, you live.

Lord Vaux.

38. With every shifting gale your course you ply,

Forever sunk too low or borne too high.

Pope.

39. You will not bow unto the common things

Men make their idols. You will stand apart

From common men; your sensual appetite

Shall be subservient to your loftier soul.

Mary Howitt.

40. Sloth, the nurse of vices,

And rust of action, is a stranger to you.

Massinger.

41. The worth of the three kingdoms I defy

To lower you to the standard of a lie.

Cowper.

42. I have some comfort in this fellow;

He hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion

Is perfect gallows.

Tempest.

43. You lacke no witte,

You speke whatte bee the trouthe,

And whatte all see is ryghte.

Rowley—(Chatterton.)

44. A man resolved and steady to his trust,

Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just.

Dr. Watts.

45. I know thy generous temper well;

Fling but the appearance of dishonor on it,

It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze.

Addison—Cato.

46. Just like a snail through life's dull path you creep,

Your whole existence but a waking sleep.

R. M. Charlton.

47. Your nature is,

That you incline to hope rather than fear,

And gladly banish squint suspicion.

Milton—Comus.

48. A right tender heart,

Melting and easy, yielding to impression,

And catching the soft flame from each new beauty.

Rowe—Jane Shore.

49. The ruby lip, the sparkling eye,

All unavailing prove;

Wandering from fair to fair you fly,

But will not learn to love.

Dr. S. H. Dickson.

50. Never credit me, if I don't think thee more stupid, yea, more obtusely, intensely, and impenetrably thick-skulled, than ever man or woman was before thee.

Fanny Kemble—Star of Seville.

51. Some deem you are a surly man,

But they know not your griefs and fears,

How you have been beloved by one,

Whose image lies "too deep for tears."

Thomas Miller.

52. One charm,

We in your graceful character observe;

That though your passions burn with high impatience,

And sometimes, from a noble heat of nature,

Are ready to fly off, yet the least check

Of ruling reason brings them back to temper,

And gentle softness.

Thomson—Tancred and Sigismunda.

53. You are the fellow at the chimney corner,

Who keeps the fire alive that warms us all.

Fanny Kemble.

54. You love, and would be loved again;

Do but confess it;—you possess a soul,

That what it wishes, wishes ardently.

You would believe you hated, had you power

To love with moderation

Hill—Zara.

55. A soul

Too great, too just, too noble to be happy.

Cibber—Zimena.

56. Though straiter bounds your fortune does confine,

In your large heart is found a wealthy mine

Waller.

57. Your heart has settled in a sea of pride,

Till every part is cold and petrified.

Miss H. F. Gould.

58. Your mirth is the pure spirits of various wit,

Yet never doth your God or friends forget;

And when deep talk and wisdom come in view,

Retires, and gives to them their due

Cowley.

59. You are young, and of

That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favor,

And doubtlessly, with such a form and heart,

Would look into the fiery eyes of war.

Byron—Werner.

60. Calm as evening skies

Is your pure mind, and lighted up with hopes

That open heaven.

Thomson—Tancred and Sigismunda.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?

LADY.

Nevill.—Know'st thou how slight a thing a woman is?

Scudmore.—Yes; and how serious too.

Nathaniel Field—
Woman's a Weathercock. A Comedy.
From Lamb's Specimens of Old Dramatic Poets.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?

LADY.

None know thee but to love thee,

None name thee but to praise.

Halleck.

2. Oh, thou wilt ever be what now thou art,

Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring;

As fair in form, as warm, yet pure in heart,

Love's image upon earth without its sting.

Byron.

3. Ever o'er thy soul a shadow lies,

Still darkest, when life wears the sunniest skies;

And even when with bliss thy heart beats high,

The swell subsides into a plaintive sigh.

Mrs. Pierson.

4. Sometimes will you laugh, and sometimes cry,

Then sudden you wax wroth, and all you know not why.

Thomson.

5. Thou doest little kindnesses,

Which most leave undone or despise;

For naught that sets one heart at ease,

And giveth happiness or peace,

Is low esteemed in thy eyes.

James R. Lowell.

6. Thou art merry and free,

Thou carest for naebody,

If naebody care for thee.

Burns.

7. Women love you, that you are a woman

More worth than any man; men, that you are

The rarest of all women.

Winter's Tale.

8. Not only good and kind,

But strong and elevated is thy mind;

A spirit that with noble pride

Can look superior down

On fortune's smile or frown;

That can, without regret or pain,

To virtue's lowest duty sacrifice.

Lord Lyttleton.

9. At table you are scrupulous withal;

No morsel from your lips do you let fall,

Nor in your sauce will dip your fingers deep.

Well can you carry a morsel, and well keep,

That not a drop e'er falls upon your breast.

In courtesy your pleasure much doth rest.

Your dainty upper lip you wipe so clean,

That in your cup there is no farthing seen

Of grease, when you have drunk; and for your meat,

Full seemly bend you forward on your seat.

Chaucer.

10. You have a natural, wise sincerity,

A simple truthfulness;

And though yourself not unacquaint with care,

Have in your heart wide room.

James R. Lowell.

11. What you do

Still betters what is done; when you speak, sweet,

We'd have you do it ever.

Winter's Tale.

12. An inward light to guide thee,

Unto thy soul is given,

Pure and serene as its divine

Original in heaven.

James Aldrich.

13. You have no gift at all in shrewishness,

You are a right woman for your cowardice.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

14. The world has won thee, lady, and thy joys

Are placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys.

Crabbe.

15. Mishap goes o'er thee like a summer cloud;

Cares thou hast none, and they who stand to hear thee,

Catch the infection and forget their own.

Rogers—Italy.

16. Nature for her favorite child,

In thee hath temper'd so her clay,

That every hour thy heart runs wild,

Yet never once doth go astray.

Wordsworth.

17. Your only labor is to kill the time,

And labor dire it is, and weary wo;

You sit, you loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,

Then rising, sudden to the glass you go.

Thomson.

18. You will die if —— love you not; and you will die ere you make your love known; and you will die if he woo you, rather than abate one breath of your crossness.

Much Ado About Nothing.

19. It cannot bend thy lofty brow,

Though friends and foes depart,

The car of fate may o'er thee roll,

Nor crush thy Roman heart.

Mrs. Child.

20. You wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all yourself.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

21. To tend

From good to better—thence to best,

Grateful you drink life's cup, then bend

Unmurmuring to your bed of rest;

You pluck the flowers that around you blow,

Scattering their fragrance as you go.

Bowring.

22. Rich in love

And sweet humanity, you will be yourself,

To the degree that you desire, beloved.

Wordsworth.

23. You little care what others do,

And where they go, and what they say;

Your bliss all inward, and your own,

Would only tarnish'd be by being shown.

The talking, restless world shall see,

Spite of the world, you'll happy be;

But none shall know,

How much you are so,

Save only Love.

Mrs. Barbauld.

24. Scared at thy frown, abash'd will fly

Self-pleasing folly's idle brood,

Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy,

And leave thee leisure to be good

Gray.

25. A happy lot be thine, and larger light

Await thee there;—for thou hast bow'd thy will

In cheerful homage to the rule of right,

And lovest all, and doest good for ill.

Bryant.

26. In you are youth, beauty, and humble port,

Bounty, richesse, and womanly feature;

God better knows than my pen can report,

Wisdom, largesse, estate and cunning sure.

In every point so guided is your measure,

In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,

That nature could no more her child advance.

King James I.

27. You do incline to sadness, and oft-times

Not knowing why.

Cymbaline.

28. You are a riddle,

Which he who solved the sphinx's would die guessing!

John Tobin.

29. You have train'd your spirit to forgive,

As you hope to be forgiven;

And you live on earth as they should live

Whose hopes and home are heaven.

Bowring.

30. A reasonable woman;

Fair without vanity, rich without pride,

Discreet though witty, learned yet very humble.

John Tobin.

31. There's little of the melancholy in you; you are never sad but when you sleep, and not even sad then; for I have heard that you often dream of mischief, and wake yourself with laughing.

Much Ado About Nothing.

32. Like a summer storm awhile you're cloudy,

Burst out in thunder and impetuous showers,

But straight the sun of beauty dawns abroad,

And all the fair horizon is serene.

Nicholas Rowe.

33. Think not the good,

The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done

Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the prisoner,

The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,

Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,

Shall cry to heaven and pull a blessing on thee.

George Lillo.

34. A friend to the hen-coop you often are found;

When the rat or the weasel are prowling around,

Or chick become motherless strays from the wing,

A mother are you to the motherless thing.

Maria James.

35. A' the day you spier what news kind neibor bodies bring.

Motherwell.

36. Innocence and virgin modesty,

A virtue and a consciousness of worth

That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.

Milton—Paradise Lost.

37. It is your pleasure sweetly to complain,

And to be taken with a sudden pain;

Then up you start, all ecstasy and bliss,

And are, sweet soul, just as sincere in this.

Oh, how you roll your charming eyes in spite,

And look delightfully with all your might.

Dr. Young—Love of Fame.

38. Gracious to all; but where your love is due

So fast, so faithful, loyal, just, and true,

That a bold hand as soon might hope to force

The rolling light of heaven, as stay your course.

Waller.

39. Thou medley of contraries!

We trust thee, yet we doubt thee,

Our darkness and our light;

Night would be day without thee,

And day, without thee, night.

Judge Charlton.

40. You are a soul so white and so chaste,

As nothing called foul

Dares approach with a blot,

Or any least spot;

But still you control

Or make your own lot,

Preserving love pure as it first was begot.

Ben Jonson.

41. The power you wield has its best spells in love,

And gentleness, and thought; never in scorn,

Or any wayward impulse or caprice.

W. G. Simms.

42. You love to listen better than to talk,

And, rather than be gadding, would sit quiet;—

Hate cards, and cordials.

Tobin.

43. You do not love

As men love, who love often. Yours has been

A single sentiment for one alone,

An all-engrossing passion, which doth live

On hope and faith.

Elizabeth Bogart.

44. Thou talkest well, but talking is thy privilege;

'Tis all the boasted courage of thy sex.

Nicholas Rowe—Tamerlane.

45. Thoughts go sporting through your mind

Like children among flowers,

And deeds of gentle goodness are

The measure of your hours.

In soul or face you bear no trace

Of one from Eden driven,

But, like the rainbow, seem, though born

Of earth, a part of heaven!

George Hill.

46. All things thou art by turns, from wrath to love,

From the queen eagle, to the vestal dove.

Barry Cornwall.

47. You've turn'd up your nose at the short,

And cast down your eyes at the tall;

But then you just did it in sport,

And now you've no lover at all.

G. P. Morris.

48. Alive to feel and curious to explore

Each distant object of refined distress.

Whitehead—Roman Father.

49. You have a soul

Of god-like mould, intrepid and commanding:

But you have passions which outstrip the wind,

And tear your virtues up.

Congreve—Mourning Bride.

50. There's not a lovely transient thing

But brings thee to our mind!

The rainbow, or the fragile flower,

Sweet summer's fading joys,

The waning moon, the dying day,

The passing glories of the clouds,

The leaf that brightens as it falls,

The wild tones of the Æolian harp,

All tell some touching tale of thee;

There's not a tender lovely thing

But brings thee to our mind.

Mrs. Follen.

51. 'Tis not your part,

Out of your fond misgivings, to perplex

The fortunes of the man to whom you cleave;

'Tis yours to weave all that you have of fair

And bright, in the dark meshes of their web.

Talfourd—Ion.

52. In our hours of ease,

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;

When pain and sickness rend the brow,

A ministering angel thou.

Scott.

53. Ever art thou fair,

Ev'n in the city's gaudy tumult, fair;

Yet he who marks thee only as the charm

And worship of gay crowds, in festive halls,

Knows but thy living image, not thy soul,

Joyless in that cold pomp.

Dr. Brown—Bower of Spring.

54. Thine is the heart that is gentle and kind,

And light as the feather that sports in the wind.

Hogg—Queen's Wake.

55. Your person is a paradise, and your soul the cherub to guard it.

Dryden.

56. Your two red lips affected zephyrs blow,

To cool the Hyson, and inflame the beau;

While one white finger and a thumb conspire

To lift the cup, and make the world admire.

Young.

57. More than a sermon love you the touch'd string,

You love to tinkling tunes your feet to fling.

Allan Cunningham.

58. Coquet and coy at once your air,

Both studied, though both seem neglected;

Careless you are with artful care,

Affecting to seem unaffected.

Congreve.

59. Your sweet humor

Is easy as a calm, and peaceful too.

All your affections like the dew on roses,—

Fair as the flowers themselves, as sweet and gentle.

Beaumont and Fletcher—The Pilgrim.

60. Grateful we find you, patient of control;

A most bewitching gentleness of soul

Makes pleasure of what work you have to do.

Bloomfield—The Miller's Maid.

WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?

Must you have my picture?

You will enjoin me to a strange punishment.

With what a compell'd face a woman sits

While she is drawing! I have noted divers

Either to fain smiles, or suck in the lips,

To have a little mouth; ruffle the cheeks,

To have the dimple seen; and so disorder

The face with affectation, at next sitting

It has not been the same.

—But indeed

If ever I would have mine drawn to the life,

I would have a painter steal it at such a time

I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers;

There is then a heavenly beauty in't, the soul

Moves in the superficies.

John Webster—
The Devil's Law Case. A Tragi-Comedy.
From Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets.

WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?

Her eyes are shadowy, full of thought and prayer,

And with long lashes o'er a white rose cheek

Drooping.

Mrs. Hemans.

2. A thing all lightness, life, and glee,

One of the shapes we seem

To meet in visions of the night,

And should they greet our waking sight,

Imagine that we dream.

George Hill.

3. A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;

For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien,

And heaven's soft azure in her eye is seen.

She seems a rose-bud when it first receives

The genial sun in its expanding leaves.

Hayley—Triumphs of Temper.

4. Eyes

As tender as the blue of weeping skies,

Yet sunny in their radiance as that blue,

When sunset glitters on its falling dew.

John Neal.

5. She bends beneath the weight of dress,

The stiffen'd robes, which spoil her easy mien,

And art mistaken makes her beauty less,

While still it hides some beauties better seen.

Hammond—Love Elegies.

6. There is a sweetness in her upturn'd eyes,

A tearful lustre, such as fancy lends

To the Madonna, and a soft surprise,

As if they found strange beauty in the air.

Park Benjamin.

7. Her soft, clear eyes, deep in their tenderness,

Reflect all beautiful and kindly things.

She would seem infantile, but that her brow

In lilied majesty uptowers, and tells

That lofty thoughts and chasten'd pride are there.

Mrs. Gilman.

8. Oh, the words

Laugh on her lips; the motion of her smiles

Showers beauty, as the air-caressed spray

The dews of morning; and her stately steps

Are light, as though a winged angel trod

Over earth's flowers, and fear'd to brush away

Their delicate hues.

Milman—Fazio.

9. She has ane e'e, she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very color;

Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue would deave a miller.

Burns.

10. She lacks the beauty of a "damask skin,"

But there are roses lying near at hand,

To spring unto her cheek; oft from within

They come, called up at feeling's high command,

And on the glowing surface long remain.

Mrs. M. S. B. Dana.

11. If on her we see display'd

Pendent gems, and rich brocade,

If her chintz with less expense

Flows in easy negligence,

If she strikes the vocal strings,

If she's silent, speaks, or sings,

If she sit, or if she move,

Still we love and we approve.

Dr. Johnson.

12. Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh,

So musical and sweet;

Her foot is like a fairy's foot,

So dainty and so fleet.

Her smile is fitful sunshine,

Her hand is dimpled snow,

Her lip a very rose-bud

In sweetness and in glow.

Mrs. Osgood.

13. A thoughtful and a quiet grace,

Though happy still;—yet chance distress

Hath left a pensive loveliness;

Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams,

And her heart broods o'er home-born dreams.

Wilson.

14. Her swollen eyes are much disfigured,

And her faire face with tears

Is foully blubbered.

Spenser.

15. A downcast eye, repentant of the pain

That its mild light creates.

Keats.

16. Not fairer grows the lily of the vale,

Whose bosom opens to the vernal gale;

While health that rises with the new-born day,

Breathes o'er her cheek the softest blush of May.

Falconer—Shipwreck.

17. Fairest where all is beautiful and bright!

With what a grace she glides among the flowers

That smile around her, bowing at her touch.

Gallagher.

18. On her cheek an autumn flush

Deeply ripens;—such a blush

In the midst of brown was born,

Like red poppies grown with corn.

Around her eyes her tresses lay,

Which are blackest, none can say;

But long lashes veil a light,

That had else been all too bright.

Hood.

19. Ne in her speach, ne in her haviour

Is lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie;

But gratious womanhood and gravitie,

Above the reason of her youthly yeares.

Her golden locks she roundly doth uptye,

In braided trammels, that ne looser heares

Do out of order stray about her daintie eares.

Spenser.

20. A silver line, that from the brow to the crown,

And in the middle, parts the braided hair,

Just serves to show how delicate a soil

The golden harvest grows in; while those eyes,

Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky,

Whose azure depth their colour emulates,

Must needs be conversant with upward looks,

Prayer's voiceless service.

Wordsworth.

21. Half the charms that deck her face,

Arise from powder, shreds, and lace.

Goldsmith.

22. Time from her form has ta'en away but little of its grace,

His touch of thought hath dignified the beauty of her face.

Bayley.

23. 'Tis strange,

That though you study long, you cannot tell

The color of her eye, that seems to change,

Beneath the ivory lid, from brilliant black

To liquid hazel, then to full soft gray,

Fast melting into violet.

Miss M. E. Lee.

24. Her face is heaven's bow in showers. Her dark hair flows round it like streaming clouds.

Ossian.

25. She has an innocently downcast look,

And when she raises up her eyes of blue,

It seems as if her features were a book,

Where sweet affection letters love for you.

Rufus Dawes.

26. Indeed she has a marvellous white hand,

I must needs confess.

Troilus and Cressida.

27. I never saw a crowned queen,

With such a noble air,

So angel-like, so womanly,

As is your lady fair.

Mary Howitt.

28. Around her playful lips do glitter

Heat lightnings of a girlish scorn,

Harmless they are, for nothing bitter

In that dear heart was ever born.

That merry heart, that cannot lie

Within its warm nest quietly,

But ever from the full dark eye

Is looking kindly, night and morn.

J. R. Lowell.

29. Oh, her glance is the brightest that ever has shone,

And the lustre of love's on her cheek;

But all the bewildering enchantment is gone

The moment you hear her speak.

Mrs. Ellet.

30. The rose, with faint and feeble streak,

So slightly marks the maiden's cheek,

That you would say her hue is pale;

But if she face the Southern gale,

Or speaks, or sings, or quicker moves,

Or hears the praise of those she loves,

Or when of interest is express'd

Aught that wakes feeling in her breast,

The mantling blood in ready play

Rivals the blush of opening day.

Scott—Rokeby.

31. She dresses aye sae clean and neat,

Both decent and genteel;

And then there's something in her gait

Gars ony dress look weel.

Burns.

32. She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright,

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

Byron.

33. Eyes of the gray,

The soft gray of the brooding dove,

Full of the sweet and tender ray

Of holy love.

Mrs. Norton.

34. I saw her hand—she has a leathern hand,

A freestone color'd hand. I verily did think

That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hand;

She has a housewife's hand!

As You Like It.

35. The fashion of her gracefulness is not a follow'd rule,

And her effervescent sprightliness was never taught at school;

Her words are all peculiar, like the fairy's that spoke pearls,

And her tone is ever sweetest 'mid the cadences of girls.

Willis.

36. There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip;

Nay, her foot speaks.

Troilus and Cressida.

37. She has that changing color on the cheek,

Which speaks the heart so well; those deep blue eyes,

Like summer's darkest sky, yet not so glad;

They are too passionate for happiness.

Miss Landon.

38. There is a light around her brow,

A holiness in those dark eyes,

Which show, though wandering earthward now,

Her spirit's home is in the skies.

Moore.

39. A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face,

And slightly nonchalant,

Which seems to hold a middle place

Between one's love and aunt.

Where childhood's star has left a ray

In woman's summer sky,

As morning's dew and blushing day

On fruit and blossom lie.

O. W. Holmes.

40. A bright, frank brow, that has not learn'd to blush at gaze of man.

Macaulay—Lays of Ancient Rome.

41. If to her share some female errors fall,

Look in her face, and you'll forget them all.

Hayley—Triumphs of Temper.

42. Quips, and cranks, and playful wiles,

Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek.

Milton—Comus.

43. Excellently done, if God did all.

Twelfth Night.

44. A ruby lip

First dawns; then glows the young cheek's deeper hue,

Yet delicate as roses when they dip

Their odorous blossoms in the morning dew.

Then beam the eyes, twin stars of living blue,

Half shaded by the curls of glossy hair,

That turn to gold in the West's golden glare.

Croly—Angel of the World.

45. Love glower'd[A] when he saw her bonnie dark e'e,

'An swore by heaven's grace,

He ne'er had seen, nor thought to see,

Since e'er he left the Paphian lea,

Mair lovely a dwallin' place.

William Thom.

[A] Stared with surprise.

46. An angel-face! its sunny "wealth of hair,"

In radiant ripples, bathes the graceful throat,

And dimpled shoulders; round the rosy curve

Of the sweet mouth, a smile seems wandering ever,

While in the depths of azure fire that gleams

Beneath the drooping lashes, sleeps a world

Of eloquent meaning—passionate, but pure;

Dreamy, subdued, but O, how beautiful!