MOON-continued.

MOON-MORNING.

How like a queen comes forth the lovely moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds;
Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!
The stars are veil'd in light: the ocean-floods,
And the ten thousand streams, the boundless woods,
The trackless wilderness, the mountain's brow,
Where winter on eternal pinions broods,

All height, depth, wildness, grandeur, gloom below,

395

Touch'd by thy smile, lone moon! in one wild splendour glow.

MORALITY.

I find the doctors and the sages

Have differ'd in all climes and ages,

And two in fifty scarce agree
On what is pure morality.

MORNING-see Dawn.

See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

Croly.

T. Moore.

Sh. Hen. VI. III. 2, 1.

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. Sh. Ham. 1. 1.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen

Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty ;

Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Sh. Son. 33.

Sh. Venus and Adonis, 143.

Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds.

Milton, P. L. IV. 642.

Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl

Milton, P. L. v. 1.

Of light embroider all the cloudy east:
Night's tapers are burnt out, and jocund day
Upon the mountain-top sits gaily dress'd,
While all the birds bring music to his levee.

The morning dawns with an unwonted crimson;

The flowers more od'rous seem; the garden birds
Sing louder, and the laughing sun ascends

The gaudy earth with an unusual brightness;

Otway.

All nature smiles, and the whole world is pleased. Lee, Cæs. Bor. Sullen, methinks, and slow the morning breaks,

As if the sun were listless to appear,

And dark designs hung heavy on the day. Dryden, Duke of G. But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;

The sun, emerging, opes the azure sky;

A fresher green the smiling leaves display,

And glittering as they tremble, eheer the day. Parnell, Her.
Now flaming up the heavens, the potent sun
Melts into limpid air the high-raised clouds,
And morning fogs that hovered round the hills
In party-colour'd bands, till wide unveil'd

The face of nature shines, from where earth seems

Yet stretch'd around to melt the bending sphere.

O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight pale Thomson, Summer.
Walks forth from darkness; and the god of day,
With bright Astræa seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean.

Akenside, Pl. Im.

Now mighty nature bounds us from her birth,
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam,

Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream. Byron, Lara.
Night wanes-the vapours, round the mountains curl'd,

Melt into morn, and light awakes the world. Byron, Lara.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn,

With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,

Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn,

And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,-
And glowing into day.

Byron. Ch. Har. 111. 98.

MORNING-MORTALITY.

MORNING-continued.

Day dawns, the twilight gleam dilates,
The sun comes forth, and, like a god,
Rides through rejoicing heavens.

397

Southey, Thalaba.

Day glimmered in the east, and the white moon
Hung like a vapour in the cloudless sky.

All, that in this world is great or gay,

Rogers, Italy.

Doth, as a vapour, vanish and decay. Spenser, Ruins of Time. 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;

And, after one hour more, 'twill be eleven;

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. Sh. As Y. L. 11. 7.

What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,

When this was now a king, and now is clay. Sh. K. John,v.7. Since every man who lives is born to die,

And none can boast sincere felicity,

With equal mind what happens let us bear,

Nor joy nor grieve for things beyond our care.

Dryden.

Who breathes must suffer; and who thinks, must mourn;

And he alone is bless'd, who ne'er was born.

To contemplation's sober eye,

Such is the race of man;

Prior, Solomon, III. 240.

And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began,

Alike the busy and the gay,

But flutter through life's little day. Gray, Ode on the Spring.

Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne,

They rise, they break, and to that sea return. Pope, E. M.11.19. All men think all men mortal but themselves.

Young N. T. 1. 424. From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expires, a driveller and a show.

Johnson, Van. Hum. Wishes, 317.

'Tis a stern and a startling thing to think
How oft mortality stands on the brink
Of its grave without any misgiving:
And yet in this slippery world of strife,
In the stir of human bustle so rife,
There are daily sounds to tell us that life
Is dying, and death is living!

Hood, Miss Kilmansegg.

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

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

Longfellow, Resignation.

MOTHER- -see Affection, Parents, Sons.
There is a sight all hearts beguiling-
A youthful mother to her infant smiling,
Who with spread arms and dancing feet,
And cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.

Baillie, Legend of Lady Griseld Baillie.

A mother's love-how sweet the name!
What is a mother's love?

-A noble, pure, and tender flame,
Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould;

The warmest love that can grow cold;

This is a mother's love.

James Montgomery.

Ah! bless'd are they for whom, 'mid all their pains,
That faithful and unalter'd love remains :

Who, life wreck'd round them, hunted from their rest,
And by all else forsaken or distress'd,

Claim in one heart, their sanctuary and shrine,
As I, my mother, claim'd my place in thine!
There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born babe beside her lies;
Oh, heaven of bliss! when the heart o'erflows

Mrs. Norton.

With the rapture a mother only knows! Henry Ware, Jr.(Am.)

MOTIVES.

I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm,

Is often laudable; to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly.

Sh. Mach. IV. 2.

MOUNTAINS-MOURNING.

399

MOUNTAINS-see Alps, Enmity.

Mountains have fallen,

Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up

The ripe green vallies with destruction's splinters ;
Damming the rivers with a sudden dash,

Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made
Their fountains find another channel.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains:

They crown'd him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow,

Around his waist are forests brac'd,
The Avalanche in his hand.

Byron, Manfred.

Byron, Manfred.

He who first met the highland's swelling blue,

Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue;
Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face,

And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace. Byron, Island.
MOUNTEBANK.
All his ingredients

Are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow,
Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars,
A little capon's grease, and fasting spittle:
I know them to a dram.

MOURNING-see Funeral, Widows.

Ben Jonson, Volpone.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead;
Excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Do not for ever, with thy veiled lids,
Seek for thy noble father in the dust;

Sh. All's W. 1. 1.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

We must all die!

All leave ourselves, it matters not where, when,

Sh Ham. 1. 2.

Nor how, so we die well: and can that man that does so

Need lamentation for him? Beaumont and Fletch. Valentinian.

Behold the turtle who has lost her mate;

Awhile with drooping wings she mourns his fate;
But time the rueful image wears away,
Again she's cheer'd, again she seeks the day.

Why is the hearse with 'scutcheons blazon'd round,
And with the nodding plumes of ostrich crown'd?
No: the dead know it not, nor profit gain;
It only serves to prove the living vain.

Gay.

Guy, Trivia.