ne fire burns out another's burning;

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to the eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

4792

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions!

4793

Shaks.: Rom. and Jul. Act i. Sc. 2

Shaks.: Hamlet. Act iv. Sc. 5.

One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow.

4794

Shaks.: Hamlet. Act iv. Sc. 7.

He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
4795
Shaks.: Othello. Act i. Sc. 3.

Alas! I have not words to tell my grief;

To vent my sorrow would be some relief;
Light sufferings give us leisure to complain;

We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain.

4796 Dryden: Palamon and Arcite. Bk. iii. Line 1425 The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briars in his road.

4797 Cowper: Epistle to an Afflicted Protestant Lady. Nothing comes to us too soon but sorrow. 4798

Bailey: Festus. Sc. Home.

Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it
From its sad visions of the other world
Than calling it at moments back to this;
The busy have no time for tears.

4799 Byron: Two Foscari. Act iv. Sc. 1 Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep As any man's clay-mixture undergoes. Our least of sorrows are such as we weep; "Tis the vile daily drop on drop which wears The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares. 4800

Byron: Don Juan. Canto vi. St. 20

And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought
The intersected lines of thought;
Those furrows, which the burning share
Of sorrow ploughs untimely there:
Scars of the lacerating mind,

Which the soul's war doth leave behind.

4801

Byron: Parisina. St. 20

Ah, the sweet young rose of hope is dead "Twill never bloom again!

And the tears I shed for the beautiful dead,
They fall like the desolate rain.

4802

William Winter: Murmur of the Rain

"Tis better that our griefs should not spread far. 4803

George Eliot: Armgart. Sc. 5.

There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair.

4804

Longfellow: Resignation.

The air is full of farewells to the dying,

And mournings for the dead.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

4807

Longfellow: The Rainy Day

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

4808

Longfellow: The Rainy Day.

But O! for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! 4809

Never morning wore

Tennyson: Break, break, break

Tennyson: In Memoriam. Pt. vi. St. 2 This is truth the poet sings,

To evening, but some heart did break.

4810

That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happie:

Tell me what is sorrow? It is a gloomy cage.
And what is joy? It is a little bird,
Whose song therein is heard.

4813

R. H. Stoddard: Sorrow and Joy

Tell me what is sorrow? It is a garden-bed.
And what is joy? It is a little rose,

Which in that garden grows.

4814

R. H. Stoddard: Sorrow and Joy

Everywhere -—--

Sorrow, the heart must bear,

Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.
Many a circumstance, at least,
Touches the very breast.

BOUL-see Eternity, Futurity, Immortality.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul,
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control.
4819

Shaks.: Sonnet cxxv

But whither went his soul, let such relate
Who search the secrets of the future state:
Divines can say but what themselves believe;
Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative:
For, were all plain, then all sides must agree,
And faith itself be lost in certainty.

To live uprightly then is sure the best,

To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest.

4820

Dryden Palamon and Arcite. Bk. iii. Line 2120

The Soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point:
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years:
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds!
4821
Addison: Cato. Act v. Sc. I

It is the Soul's prerogative, its fate,
To shape the outward to its own estate.
If right itself, then, all around is well;
If wrong, it makes of all without a hell.
So multiplies the Soul its joys or pain,
Gives out itself, itself takes back again.
Transformed by thee, the world hath but one face.
4822

R. H. Dana: Thoughts on the Soul.

Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven!
By tyrant life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd?
By death enlarg'd, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; life the soul.
4823

Young: Night Thoughts. Night iii. Line 455.

Who tells me he denies his soul's immortal,
Whate'er his boast, has told me he's a knave;
His duty, 'tis to love himself alone,
Nor care though mankind perish, if he smiles,
Who thinks ere long the man shall wholly die,
Is dead already; nought but brute survives.
4824

Young: Night Thoughts. Night vii. Line 1168.

Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends. 4825

Longfellow: Michael Angelo. Pt. ii. 2.

The light of love, the purity of grace,

The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole -
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!

4826

Byron Bride of Ab. Canto i. St. 6

He had kept

The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

Byron: Ch. Harold. Canto iii. St. 57

Robert Browning: La Saisiaz. Prologue

SOUND.

Sweet is every sound,

Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;
Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

4829

SPAIN.

Tennyson: The Princess. Canto vii

Not all the blood at Talavera shed,

Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight,
Not Albuera lavish of the dead,

Have won for Spain her well-asserted right.

When shall her olive-branch be free from blight?
When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil?
How many a doubtful day shall sink in night,
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil,
And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil!
4830
Byron: Ch. Harold. Canto i. St. 90

Fair land! of chivalry the old domain,
Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain!
Though not for thee with classic shores to vie
In charms that fix th' enthusiast's pensive eye;
Yet hast thou scenes of beauty, richly fraught
With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought;
Fountains, and vales, and rocks, whose ancient name
High deeds have raised to mingle with their fame.

4831

SPECTACLES.

Mrs. Hemans: Abencerrage. Canto ii. Line, 1

Between nose and eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
4832

Cowper: Report of an Adjudged Cas

SPECULATION -
-see Chance, Gambling.

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!

4833

Shaks.: Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 4

Byron: Werner. Act ii. Sc. 2

All's to be fear'd where all is to be gain'd.

4834