Part 13

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.