Devotion! daughter of astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad. 215 ATHEISM. Young: Night Thoughts. Night ix. Line 772 By night an atheist half believes a God. 220 Young: Night Thoughts. Night v. Line 176. Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, 221 Coleridge: Fears in Solitude. Line 81 "There is no God," the foolish saith But none," There is no sorrow: And Nature oft the cry of Faith Eyes which the preacher could not school, And lips say, "God be pitiful," That ne'er said "God be praised." 222 ATHENS. Mrs. Browning: Cry of the Human Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul? Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away. 223 AUDIT. Byron: Ch. Harold. Canto ii. St. 2 He took my father grossly, full of bread, With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; I can make my audit up, that all 225 AUGUST. Dust on thy mantle! dust, Shaks.: Coriolanus. Act i. Sc. 1 Bright Summer! on thy livery of green. A tarnish as of rust, Dims thy late-brilliant sheen; And thy young glories, - leaf, and bud, and flower, 226 And lo! the sun is coming. Red as rust And all the dust, printed with pigeons' feet, And while she calls to sleep and dreams "Come on," 227 Jean Ingelow: Afternoon at a Parsonage Rejoice! ye fields, rejoice! and wave with gold, When August round her precious gifts is flinging; Lo! the crushed wain is slowly homeward rolled: The sunburnt reapers jocund lays are singing. Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence - like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep! 231 Shaks.: M. for M. Act ii. Sc. 2. Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? And the creature run from the cur? There thou might'st behold the great image of authority: AUTHORS -see Books, Critics, Poems, Reading. 235 St. 52 Longfellow: Voices of the Night. Prelude No author ever spared a brother; 236 Gay: Fables. Elephant and Bookseller In every work regard the writer's end, 237 Pope: E. on Criticism. Pt. ii. Zine 55 An author! 'tis a venerable name! 238 Young: Epis. to Pope. Bk. ii. Line 15 Some write, confin'd by physic; some, by debt; 239 Young: Epis. to Pope. Bk. i. Line 75 Great is the dignity of authorship. 240 Tupper: Proverbial Phil. Of Authorship. Rare is the worthiness of authorship. 241 Tupper: Proverbial Phil. Of Authorship Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters to be wise, There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail; See nations slowly wise, and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust. 242 Dr. Johnson: Vanity of Human Wishes. Line 157 We that live to please, must please to live. 243 Dr. Johnson: Pro. on Opening Drury Lane Theatre Some write a narrative of wars and feats, Of heroes little known, and call the rant A history. Describe the man, of whom His own coevals took but little note, And paint his person, character and views, As they had known him from his mother's womb. 244 Cowper: Task. Bk. iii. Line 139 None but an author knows an author's cares, Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. 245 Cowper: Prog. of Error. Line 516 Of all those arts in which the wise excel, 246 Sheffield, Duke of Buckinghamshire: Essay on Poetry If he describes a house, he shows the face, 247 Dryden: Art of Poetry. Canto i. Line 49. I never dare to write As funny as I can. 248 Oliver Wendell Holmes: Height of Ridiculous. St. 8. 'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't. 249 Byron: English Bards. Line 51. One hates an author that's all author, fellows But every fool describes, in these bright days, St. 75. Byron: Don Juan. Canto v. St. 52 At Learning's fountain it is sweet to drink, 252 J. G. Saxe: The Library AUTUMN see October, November. John Phillips: Cider. 2 253 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core. 254 Keats: To Autumn Divinest autumn! who may paint thee best, Sometimes we see thee stretched upon the ground, Braiding a coronet of oaten straw and flowers. R. H. Stoddard: Autumn. Pale in her fading bowers the summer stands, The Wind moans in the Wood, R. H. Stoddard: Ode. The cold Rain falls on the graves of the Good, Byron Forceythe Willson: Autumn Song 257 Autumn wins you best by this its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay. 258 Robert Browning: Paracelsus. Sc. i |