Chapter 92
Believe a woman, or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics.
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.
O Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!
_Monody on the Death of Sheridan_.
When all of Genius which can perish dies.
Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.
Who track the steps of Glory to the grave.
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die in moulding Sheridan.
_Don Juan_.
Canto i. St. 22.
But, O ye lords of ladies intellectual!
Inform us truly, have they not henpecked you all?
Canto i. St. 117.
Whispering I will ne'er consent, consented.
Canto xiii. St. 95.
Society is now one polished horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the _Bores_ and _Bored_.
Canto xv. St. 13.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
_Hebrew Melodies_.
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; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
CHARLES WOLFE.
1791-1823.
_The Burial of Sir John Moore_.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
1795-1820.
_The American flag_.
When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there.
JOHN KEATS.
1796-1820.
_Endymion_. Line 1.