“ When soft music comes to thine ear, as thou liest at night, thine eyes half closed in sleep, and thy soul as a stream flowing at pleasant sounds. It is like the rising breeze that whirls at first the thistle's beard, then flies dark-shadowy over the grass. ”

“ H. F. Harrington.
32. Delicious Spring!
Nursed in the lap of thin and subtle showers,
Which fall from clouds that lift their snowy wing
From odorous buds of light-enfolded flowers,
And from enmassed bowers,
That over grassy walks their greenness fling.
Albert Pike.
33. The Summer, the radiant Summer's the fairest,
For green woods and mountains, for meadows and bowers,
For waters and fruits, and for flowers the rarest,
And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers.
Mary Howitt. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Howitt.
16. A low, Sweet Home,
A Pastoral Dwelling With Its Ivied Porch,
And Lattice, Gleaming Through the Leaves.
Hemans.
17. You shall dwell in some bright little isle of your own,
In a blue summer ocean far off and alone,
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers.
Moore.
18. You scarce upon the borders enter,
Before you're at the very centre.
Though small your farm, it has a house
Full large to entertain a mouse;
But if it's enter'd by a rat,
There is no room to bring a cat. ”

“ 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.
[61] 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. ”

“ Beyond a vision, 'tis so transiently
Scatter'd along the eternal vault; and yet
It dwells upon the soul, and sooths the soul,
And blends itself into the soul, until
Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch
Of sorrow and of love. ”

“ Like a bride full of blushes, when lingering to take
A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes.
Moore—Lalla Rookh.
33. The midnight hour,
The starlight wedding of the earth and heaven,
When music breathes in perfume from the flower,
And high revealings to the heart are given.
S. L. Fairfield.
34. Weel may'st thou welcome the night's deathly reign,
Wi' souls of the dearest ye're mingling then;
The gowd light o' mornin' is lightless to thee,
But, oh! for the night wi' its ghost revelrie. ”

“ Merry Wives of Windsor.
34. You hate the gold and silver which persuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade;
Who madly think the flowery mountain's side,
The fountain's murmur, and the valley's pride,
The river's flow, less pleasing to behold
Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold. ”

“ The myrtle darkness of her leaf's green hue.
Mrs. Norton.
21. The water-lilies, that glide so pale,
As if with constant care
Of the treasures which they bear;
For those ivory vases hold
Each a sunny gift of gold.
Miss Landon.
22. Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares,
And take the winds of March with beauty.
Winter's Tale.
23. Sweet wild-flowers, that hold their quiet talk
Upon the uncultured green. ”

“ Thou lovest the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers!
Up, up, thy heart, and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside,
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide,
[114] Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.
Motherwell.
4. The eventide of Summer, when the trees
Yield their fresh honors to the passing breeze,
And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed;
When the mild sun his paling lustre shrouds
In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds.
Mrs. E. C. Embury. ”

“ Miss Landon.
9. The hare-bell on the heath,
The forest tree beneath,
Which springs like elfin dweller of the wild;
Light as a breeze astir
Stemm'd with the gossamer,
Soft as the blue eyes of a poet's child.
Mary Howitt.
10. Thou sweet daisy, common-place
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet, with something of a grace,
Which love makes for thee!
Wordsworth.
11. The good old passion-flower!
It bringeth to thy mind
The young days of the Christian church,
Dim ages left behind.
Mary Howitt. ”

“ I will drop in his way some obscure epistle of love; wherein, by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. ”

“ Spenser.
[219] 31. A mansion, where domestic love
And truth breathe simple kindness to the heart;
Where white arm'd childhood twines the neck of age;
Where hospitable cares light up the hearth,
Cheering the lonely traveller on his way.
Mrs. Gilman.
32. Thine be a cot beside the hill:
A beehive's hum shall sooth thine ear;
A willowy brook that turns the mill
With many a fall, shall linger near.
Rogers.
33. The dense city's roofs
Throng around thee, and the vertic' sun
Pours from those glowing tiles a fervid heat
Upon your shrinking nerves. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Gentleman.— A lock, a leaf,
That some dear girl has given;
Frail record of an hour, as brief
As sunset clouds in heaven,
But spreading purple twilight still
High over memory's shadow'd hill.
O. W. Holmes.
6. Lady.—There's little that you care for now,
Except a simple wedding ring.
Thomas Miller.
7. Fruits that have just begun
To flush on the side that is next the sun.
H. F. Gould.
8. Gentleman.—You do wish that you could be
A sailor, on the rolling sea;
In the shadow of the sails
You would ride and rock all day,
Going whither blow the gales,
As you've heard the seamen say.
L. S. Noble. ”

“ She loves, but 'tis not you she loves,
Not you on whom she ponders,
When in some dream of tenderness
Her truant fancy wanders.
The forms that flit her vision through,
Are like the shapes of old,
Where tales of Prince and Paladin
On tapestry are told.
Man may not hope her heart to win,
Be his of common mould.
C. F. Hoffman.
[97]
WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU? ”

“ Virtue's his path, but sometimes 'tis too narrow
For his vast soul, and then he starts wide out,
And bounds into a vice that bears him far
From his first course, and plunges him in ills.
Dryden—All for Love.
44. A man whom storms can never make
Meanly complain, nor can a flattering gale
Make him talk proudly. ”

“ Southey—Madoc.
22. Sunrise, slanting on a city, when
The early risen poor are coming in,
Duly and cheerfully to toil, and up
Rises the hammer's clink, with the far hum
Of moving wheels, and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells.
N. P. Willis.
23. When the west
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
[136] Of some meek penitent, whose last
Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven,
Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven. ”

“ Exhale in sweetness, that the skilful bee
May taste, at will, from their selected spoils,
To work her dulcet sweet.
Akenside—Pleasures of the Imagination.
[117] 16. The joyous Winter days,
When sits the soul intense, collected, cool,
Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.
Thomson.
17. The Spring, as she passes along
With her eye of light, and her lip of song.
W. G. Clark.
18. October! Heaven's delicious breath,
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek sun grows brief,
And the year smiles, as drawing near its death. ”

“ G. W. Doane.
10. There's a room you love dearly, the sanctum of bliss,
That holds all the comforts you least like to miss;
Where, like ants in a hillock, you run in and out,
Where sticks grace the corner, and hats lie about,
With book-shelves, where tomes of all sizes are spread,
Not placed to be look'd at, but meant to be read. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Mary Howitt.
38. Sleep,—soft closer of our eyes,
Low murmurer of tender lullabies.
Keats.
39. You love the sweet Sabbath, that bids in repose
The plough in its mid-furrow stand.
Dr. Gilman.
40. Pleasant it is when woods are green,
And winds are soft and low,
To lie amid some sylvan scene,
Where, the long drooping boughs between,
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
Alternate come and go.
Longfellow.
41. Gentleman.—To beat the surges under you,
And ride upon their backs; to tread the water
Whose enmity you flung aside, and breast
The surge most swollen, that meets you ”

“ 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. ”

“ As alone there triumphs to the life,
All the gain, all the good, of the elements at strife.
Ben Jonson.
48. When first you look upon her face,
You little note, beside
The timidness, that still betrays
The beauties it would hide;
But, one by one, they look out from
Her blushes and her eyes,
And still the last the loveliest,
Like stars from twilight skies.
George Hill.
[64] 49. Endearing! endearing!
Why so endearing
Are those dark lustrous eyes,
Through their silk fringe peering?
They love thee! they love thee! ”

“ Upon a green bank side,
Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,
Whose waters seem unwillingly to glide,
Like parting friends, who linger ere they sever.
Drake.
44. Where streets are stifling, bustling, noisy, dry;
Hot are the pavements as an oven floor;
Dingy-red brick grows tiresome to the eye.
Mary Howitt.
45. Refinement's chosen seat,
Art's trophied dwelling, learning's green retreat. ”

“ 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. ”

“ The maidens near her, tittering, take their stance,
And on her swan-white neck, and snowy arms,
Her small and nimble feet, they look askance;
The hoary fiddler, as he listens, warms,
And draws a lustier bow, and gazes on her charms.
Allan Cunningham.
52. A cheek, fair
And delicate as rose-leaf newly blown—
A brow like marble—lofty, and profuse
With the rich brown of her o'ergathering hair.
W. G. Simms.
[65] 53. Such her beauty, as no arts
Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace;
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place. ”

“ The worn and wormy wainscot, flapping in the wind.
Thomas Miller.
48. In simple western style,
With all your chambers on the lower floor;
In fact, of stories you will boast no more
Than simply one. 'Tis at the river's side,
And near it grows a noble sycamore;
A velvet lawn of green, outspreading wide,
Slopes smoothly down, to meet the ever-rippling tide.
Mrs. Dana.
49. It is a home to die for, as it stands
Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood o'er the green repose
And laughing sunshine of the pastures round. ”

“ 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,
[41] 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. ”

“ 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.
[29]
31. ”

“ He writes verses, he speaks holiday,
He smells April and May.
Merry Wives of Windsor.
54. 'Tis not his talent to conceal his thoughts,
And carry smiles and sunshine in his face,
When discontent sits heavy at his heart. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Light on their twigs the young leaves are shaking,
Round the warm knolls the lambs are a-leaping,
The colt from his fold o'er the pasture is sweeping,
And on the bright lake,
The little waves break,
For there the cool west is at play.
J. G. Percival.
47. The desolate and dying year,
Yet lovely in its lifelessness,
As beauty stretch'd upon the bier,
In death's clay-cold and dark caress;
[125] There's loveliness in its decay,
Which breathes, which lingers on it still.
J. G. Brooks.
48. Pale, rugged Winter, bending o'er his tread,
His grizzled hair bedropt with icy dew ”

“ Gentleman.—She's fair and fause that caused your smart,
You will lo'e her mickle and lang;
She will break her vow, she will break your heart,
And ye may e'en go hang.
Burns.
28. Lady.—Gay hope is yours by fancy led,
Less pleasing when possess'd,
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast.
Gray.
29. Single as a stray glove.
Fanny Kemble.
30. Gentleman.—You will not waste your spring of youth
In idle dalliance. You will plant rich seeds
To blossom in your manhood, and bear fruit
When you are old. ”