John F. Addington Sarah Josepha Buell Hale.

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Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abus'd.

Shaks. HamlA

Stealing her soul with many vows of faith«
And ne'er a true one I

Dishonour waits on pcrfkly. The villain
Should blush to think a fUaehood: 'Tis the crime
Of cowards.

• C. Johnson's SuUancss

The seal of truth w on thy gallant form.

For none but cowards 1 1

Murphy's Atom*,

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1 1^

106 FAME.

Let fa]ae> v)d be a strangrcr to thy Upe ;

What is man*s love ! his vows are broke,

Shame on the policy that first began

Even while his parting kiss is warm.

To tamper with the heart to hide iU thoughts !


And douoly shame on that inglorious tongue

Ah ! doom'd indeed to worse than death.

That sold its honesty and told a He.

Hamrd^t Regulu9.

To breathe through life but falsehood's breath.

The man of pm« and simple heart

And smile with &lsehood's smile !

Through life disdains a double part,
He never needs the screen of lies

Mr$, Osgoou

His inward bosom to disguise.

Gatf 9 Fables.


Oh ! colder than the wind that freexes

Then straight thro' all the world 'gan fiune to fbr

Founts that but now in sunshine play'd.

A monster swifter none is under sun ;

Is that congealing pang which seizes

Increasing as in waters we descry

The trusting bosom when betrayM.

The circles small, of nothing that begun ;


Which at the length, unto such breadth do come,

Then &re thee well— I M rather make

That of a drop which firom the skies do fidl,

My bower upon some icy lake,

The circles spread and hide the waters all :

^en thawing suns begin to shine,

So fame in flight increaseth more and more :

Than trust to k>ve so fiilse as thine.

For at the first, she is not scarcely known.


But by and by she fleets fVom shore to shore.

Out on our beings* falsehood ! studied, cold —

To clouds firom the earth her stature straight is

Are we not like that actor of old time.


Who wore his mask so long his features took

There whatsoever by her trump is btown.

Its likeness?

The sound that both by sea and land ootflies.

Mi98 London,

Rebounds again and verberates the skies.

I live among the cold, the Mae,

Mirror for Magiotrates.

And I must seem like them;

The voice of fame should be as loud as thunder

And such I am, for I am false

As those I most oondenm.

Where never dies the sound ;

Misi London,

And, as her brows the clouds invade.

The sting of falsehood loses half its pain

Her feet do strike the ground.

If our own soul bear witness — we are true.

Sing then good fame, that's out of virtue bom;


For who doth fame neglect, doth virtue scorn.

Agony! keen agony.

Joiif on?s Maoque of Queens

For trusting heart to find

The life of fkme is action understood ;

That vows believed, were vows conceived

That action must be virtuous, great, and good.

As light as summer wind.

Virtue itself by fame is ofl protected.


And dies despised, where the fiime 's neglected.

1 scorn this hated scene

Jonoon'o Clorindo

Of masking and disguise.

Talk not to me of fond renown, the rude.

Where men on men still gleam,

Inconstant blast of the base multitude :

With falseness in their eyes;

Their breaths, nor souls can satisfaction make.

Where all is counterfeit.

For half the joys I part with for their sake.

And truth hath never say;


iVhere hearts themselves do cheat,

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ;

Concealing hope's decay.


For now he lives in fame though not in life.

Shaks. Richard III

We hear, indeed, but shudder while we hear.

llio insidious fklsehood, and the heartless jeer :

The evil that men do, lives afler them ;

For each dark libel tliat thou lik'st to shape.

The good is oft mterred with their bones.

Thou may SI from law, but Hot from scorn escape ;

Shako, JuUuo Caoar

The pointed finger, cold averted eye.

Men's evil manners live in brass : their virtues

Uif.ulted virtutt's hiss — thou canst not fly.

We write in water.

CharUi Spragme,

Shako, HrvyVJIl

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Adten, and take thj praise with thee to heav*n I
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remeniber*d in thy epitaph.

Shak$. Henry IV. Part L

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Liv« registerM upon our brazen tombs.
And then grace us in the disgrace of death.

Shdkt, Loot^9 Lahcur,

AHer my death I wish no other herald,
N;> other speaker of my living actions.
To .iccp mine honour from corruption.
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.

ShakM. Henry VIIL

O, your desert speaks loud ; and I should wrong it,
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom.
When it deserves with characters of brass
A fbrted residence, *gainst the tooth of time
And razure of oblivion.

Shakt, Mea.far Mea,

The fame that a man wins himself is best ;
That he may call his own : honours put on him
Make him no more a man than his clothes do.
Which are as soon ta'en off; fot in the warmth
The heat comes from the body not the weeds ;
So man*s true fame must strike from his own deeds.


Vain empty words
Of honour, glory, and immortal fame.
Can these recall the spirit flrom its place,-
Or re-inspire the breathless clay with life ?
Whattho' your fame with all its thousand trumpets,
Sound o*cr the sepulchres, will that awake
The sleeping dead.

^ SeweW$ Sir Walter Raleigh,

I courted fame but as a spur to brave
And honest deeds ; and who despises fame
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it

MalleVM Mustapha.

Some when they die, die all ; their mould*ring clay
Is but an emblem of their memories ;
The space quite closes up thro* which they passM:
That I have liv*d, I leave a mark behind.
Shall pluck the shining age from vulgar time,
And give it whole to late posterity.

Young't Bu9iri$.

In stress of weather, most ; some sink outright ;

O'er them, and o*er their names, the billows close ;

To-morrow knows not they were ever bom.

Others a short memorial leave behind,

Like a flag floating, when the bark's ingulph'd ;

It floats a moment and is seen no more :

One CfBsar lives ; a thousand are forgot

Young*$ Night Thoughig.

Knows he, that mankind praise. agtk' ^st their will.
And mix as much detraction as tliey can 7
Knows he, that fiiithless fame her whisper has.
As well as trumpet ? That his vanity
Is BO much tickled from not bearing all ?

Young's NigU ThouglUf

With &me, in just proportion, envy grows ;
The man that makes a character, makes foes.

Young's Epistle to Pope

Fame is a public mistress, none enjoys,
But, more or less, his rival's peace destroys.

Youvg's Epistle to Pope.

Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid,
A soldier should be modest as a maid :
Fame is a bubble the reserv'd enjoy ;
Who strive to grasp it, as they touch destroy :
*T b the world's debt to deeds of high degree ;
But if you pay yourself) the world is free.

Young''s Love of Fami

What so foolish as the chase of fame 7
How vain the prize ! how impotent our aim !
For what are men who grasp at praise sublime.
But bubbles on the rapid stream of time.
That rise and fall, that swell, and are no more.
Born and forgot, ten thousand in an hour.

Young's Love of Fame

A prattling gossip, on whose tongue
Proof of perpetual motion hung,
Whose lungs in strength all lungs surpass.
Like her own trumpet made of brass ;
Who with a hundred pair of eyes.
The vain attacks of sleep defies ;
Who with a hundred pair of wings
News from the farthest quarters brings ;
Sees, hears, and tells, untold before.
All that she knows, — and ten times more.


Absurd ! to think to overreach the grave.
And from the wreck of names to rescue ours :
The best concerted schemes men lay for fkme
Die fast away : only themselves die faster.
The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurel'd bard.
Those bold insurers of eternal fame.
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.

Blair's Grave
Sepulchral columns wrestle, but in vain.
With all-subduing time ; her cankering hand
With calm deliberate malice wosteth them :
Worn on the edge of days, the brass consuroo.
l*he busto moulders, and the dccp-cut marbW,
Um 'eady to the steel, gives up lU charge.
AmbnJon, half-convicted of her folly.
Hangs down the head and reddens at the taie

Blaif Gram

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For fame tLe «irTetch beneath the gaOows lief,
Disowning every crime for which he dies,
Of life pfofuse, tenacious of a name.
Fearless of death, and yet afraid of shame.
Nature has wove into the human mind
This anxious care of names we leave behind,
T* extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
And give an earnest of a life to come ;
For i^ when dead, we are but dust or clay.
Why think of what posterity will say 7
Her praise or censure cannot us concern.
Nor ever penetrate the silent urn.

Soatme Jermynt.

What *s fame ? a fancied life in others* breath,

A thing beyond us, ev*n before our death.

Just what you hear, you have; and what^s

The same, my lord, if Tully's, or your own.
All that we feel of it begins and ends
In the small circle of our foes or friends ;
To all beside as much an empty shade.
As Eugene living, as a Oesar dead.

Pope'9 Essay on Man,
All fame is foreign, but of true desert;
Plays round the head, but comes not near the

One selflapproving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas ;
And more true joy Marcellus exilM feels.
Than CoBsar with a senate at his heels.

Pope's Essay on Man,

And what is fame ? the meanest have their day ;
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.

Ah me ! full sorely is my heart forlorn
To think how modest worth neglected lies.
While partial fame doth with her blasts adorn
Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp disguise.
Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise.

ShensUnu's SchoUmistreas.

Will fortune, fame, my present ills relieve 7
And what is fame, that fluttering noisy sound.
But the cold lie of universal vogue 7
Thousands of men fall in the field of honour.
Whoso glorious deeds die in inglorious silence.
Whilst vaunting cowards, favoured by blind fortune,
Ileap all the fruit of their successful toils.
And build their fame upon their noble ruins.

H, Smith's Princess of Parma,

••Stem sons of war !" sad Wilfred sigh'd,
* Behold the boast of Roman pride !
tVhat now of all your toils are known 7
A. grassy trench, a broken stone !'*

Scott's Robeky,

He left the name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

Dr. Johnson's Vanity ef Human Wiskss,
Men*s actions to fhturity appear.
But as th* events to whinh they are conjoinM
To give them consequence. A fallen state.
In age and weakness fall*n, no hero hath ;
For none remains behind unto whose pride
The cherishM mem'ry of his acts pertains.

Joanna BaUHe's Constantine PaXedogus
Who, that surveys this span of earth we press.
This speck of life in timers great wilderness.
This narrow isthmus *twlxt two boundless seas.
The past, the future, two eternities !
Would sully tlie bright spot or leave it bare.
When he might build him a proud temple there,
A name, that long shall hallow all its space.
And be each purer soul's high resting-place !

Moore's LaUa Rookh
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not
So young as to regard men*s frown or smile.
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ;
I stood and stand alone, — rememberM or forgot

Byron's Childe Harold,
But there are deeds which should not pass away,
And names that must not wither, though the earth
Forgets her empires with a just decay.
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and

The high, the mountain majesty of worth
Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe.
And from its immortality look forth
In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,
Imperishably pure beyond all things below.

Byron's ChUde Harold
Thy fanes, thy temples to the surface bow.
Commingling slowly with heroic earth.
Broke by the share of every rustic plough :
So perish monuments of mortal birth.
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded worth.

Byron's Childe HaroUL
What is the end of fkme 7 *t is but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper ;
Some liken it to climbing up a hill.
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost m vaponr ;
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill.
And bards bum what they call their ** midnight

To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust

And glory long has made the saga's smile ;
*Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind —
Depending more upon the historian^s stylo
Than on the name a person leaves behind


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Tib nan uiow.ball which derives assistance
From eTeiy flake, and yet rolls on the same,
Efen till an i(»berj[ it may chance to ^ow ;
Bat after all *t is nothing but cold snow.


Upon the shade of those distinguished men,
Who were or are the puppet^hows of praise —
Hie praise of persecution. Gaze again
On the most favoured ; and amidst the blaze
Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-brow*d,
What can ye recognise 7 a gilded cloud.

What of them is left, to tell
Where they lie, and how they fell ?
Not a stone on their turfj nor a bone in their graves ;
But they live in the verse immortality saves.

ByrmCt Siege of Corinth,
The very generations of the dead
Arc swept away, and tomb inherits tomb,
Until the memory of an age is fled,
And, buried, sinks beneath its oflfspring's doom.

Yet I love glory ; — glory 's a great thing ;
Think what it is to be in your old age
Maintained at the expense of your good king:
A moderate pension shakes fiill many a sage,
And heroes are but made for bards to sing.
Which is still better ; thus in verse to wage
Your wars eternally, besides enjoying
Hal^pay for life, make mankind worth destroying.

Weighed in the balance, hero dust

Is vile as vulgar day.
Thy scales, mortality ! are just
To all that pass away.

Byron^B Ode to Napoleon,
Yet vanity herself had better taught
A surer path even to the fame he sought,
By pointing out on history's fruitless page
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage,
While Franklin's quiet mem'ry climbs to Heaven,
Calming the lightning which he thence had riven
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ;
While Wasliington 's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there 's an echo lefl to air.

Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame

A draught that mantles high,
And seems to llfl this earthly frame

Above mortality.
Away I to me — a woman — bring
Sweet waters from aflfection's spring !

Jtfiri. Hernando Poems,

Fame ! Fame ! thou canst not be the slay

Unto the drooping reed,
The cool fi-esh fountain in the day

Of the soul's feverish need :
Where must the kmo one turn or flee ?
Not unto thee, oh ! not to thee !

Mrs, Heman*
Of all the phantoms fleeting in the mist
Of Timt^ though meagre all and ghostly tliin.
Most unsubstantial, unessential shade
Was earthly Fame.

PoOoek'B Course of Ttms.
I am a woman : — tell me not of fame.
The eagle's wing may sweep the stormy path.
And fling back arrows where the dove would die
Miss Landon*s Poemt,
Nor let thy noble spirit grieve.
Its life of glorious fame to leave ; —
A life of honour and of worth
Has no eternity on earth.

Longfellow*s Poems

The world may scorn me, if they choose — I care
But little Sat their scoflings. I may sink
For moments ; but I rise again, nor shrink
From doing what the faithful heart inspires.
I will not flatter, fawn, nor crouch, nor wink.
At what high-mounted wealth or power desires -
I have a loftier aim, to which my soul aspiies.

We tell thy doom without a sigh.

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's —

One of the few immortal names
That were not bom to die.

HdUeck*s Boztaris


Tell me, where is fancy bred;
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
It is engendered in the eyes.
With gazing fed: and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.

Shaks, Merchant of Vemc*

All impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy.

Shaks, AU's Vi'eU

Ever let the fancy roam.

Pleasure never is at home ;

Then let winged Fancy wander

Through the thoughts still spread beyon«i her

Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose,

Every thing is spoilt by use.

Kent Poems


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So fancy dreams Di8pro\e it, if ye can.
Ye reaR^neirs broad awake, whose bnsj search
Of argument, empIoyM too oil amiss.
Sifts half th 3 pleasures of short life away.

Counter'* YardUyOak,
Pleasant at noon, beside the vocal brook.
To lie one down and wutch the floating clouds.
And shapr to Fancy's wild imaginings.
Their ever-varying forms.

Woe to tlie youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from reason's hand the reins.

ScoWb Rdkeby,
Fancy is a fairy, that can hear.
Ever, the melody of nature's voice.
And see all lovely visions that she will.

JIfrs. Otgood.
A dream of thee, aroused by fancy's power.
Shall be the first to wander slowly by ;
And they, who never saw thy lovely face.
Shall pause to conjure up a vision of thy grace.

Mrt, Norton.


So fare thee well, — and may th' indulgent gods

• • • grant thee every wish
Thy soul can form ! Once more farewell I

And farewell goes out sighing.

Shaks. Troilua and Cressida,
Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget

Shaks, Romeo and Juliet
Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Shakt, Romeo and Juliet
Fare thee well ! yet think awhile

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ;
Who now would rather trust thy smile,
And die with thee, than live without thee.

Mo re.
Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh ;

Oh ! more than tears of blood con tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye.
Are in the word, farewell — farewell !

Farewell ! there's but one pang in death.
One only, — leaving thee !

Af rf . Henunu,

<*'arewell* the early dews that fall

Upon thy grass-grown-bed,
Are like tno thoughts that now recall

Thine image of the dead.
A. blcs&mg hallows thy dark cell —
I ovill not sray to weep. — IiarewelL

Jtftss London,

I ever trembled in my bliss ;
Now there are farewells in a kiss.

Ebenexer EUkU

And now farewell ! farewell ! I dare noi lengthen
These sweet sad moments out ; to gaze on thet

Is bliss indeed, yet it but serves to strengthen
The love that now amounts to agony ;

This is our last farcweU.

Mrs. Welby

I heard thy low-whisper*d farewell, love.

And silently saw thee depart ; —
Ay, silent; — for how could words tell, love,

The sorrow that swell'd in my heart 7
They could not — Oh ! language is faint,

When passion's devotion would speak ;
Light pleasure or pain it may paint,

But with feelings like ours it is weak !
Yet tearless and mute tliough I stood, love.

Thy last words are thrilling me yet,
And my heart would have breathed, if it could,

And murmur'd, •* Oh ! do not forget I"

Mrs, Ohgood.

Farewell — thou hast trampled love's faith in the

Thou hast torn from my bosom its hope and its

Yet, if thy life's current with bliss it would swell,
I would pour out my own in this last fond farewell :

And, like some low and mournful spell.
To whisper but one word — farewell !

Park Benjamin.

FARMER.— (See Labour.)


To you your father should be as a god ,

One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one,

To whom you are but as a form in wax.

By him imprinted, and within his power

To leave the figure, or disfigure it.

Shaks. Midsummer NighCs Dream
Leon* — ^Are you so 'fond of your young prince as w«
Do seem to be of ours?
DoL If at home, sir.

He 's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter :
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemj :
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all :
He makes a July's day short as December ;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.

Shaks. Winter's TaU

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But minu, and mine I loT*d, and mine I praised.
And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much,
That I myiielf was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her.

Shaks, Much Ado.

The child la &ther of the man.


If there be a hnman tear

From passion's dross refinM and clear,
*T is that by loving father shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head.

SeoU*$ Lady of the Lake,
And well do all that father likes ;

His wishes are so few.
Would they were more ! that every hour

Some wish of his I knew !

I 'm sure it makes a happy day,

When I can please him any way.

Mary Houmt,

My father's praise I did not miss,

What time he stooped down to kiss

The poet at his knee.

UU$ BarretL


Fashion, a word which knaves and fools may use.
Their knavery and folly to excuse.

ChurehiWe Roteiad,

The town, as usual, met him in full cry ;
The town, as usual, knew no reason why:
But fashion so directs, and moderns raise
On fashion's mould'ring base their transient praise.

Fashion, leader of a chatt'ring train,
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign.
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape.
And would degrade her vot'ry to an ape.
The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong.
Holds a usnrp'd dominion o'er his tongue.
There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace.
Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace.
And when accomplish'd in her wayward school.
Calls gentleman whom she has made a £o6L

Oowper^B Convertation,

In tne great world — which being interpreted

Meaneth the west or worst end of a city,

And about twice two thousand people bred

By no means to be very wise or witty.

But to sit up while others lie in bed,

And lock down on the universe with pity, —

Juan, as an inveterate patrician.

Was well received by persons of condition.


The company is ** mixed" (The phrase I quote is
As much as saying, they 're below your notice

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion.

Round the wealthy bride ;
But when compar'd with real passion

Poor is all that pride, —
What are their showy treasures ?
What are their noisy pleasures 7
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art-—
The polish'd jewels blaze
May draw the wond'ring gaze.
But never, never can come near the worthy heart

Oh ! wreathe the ribbon lightly round.

And tie it 'neath your chin ;
And do not let its folds be bound

By needle or by pin !
It is unworthy, lady dear.
Your dignity of mind.
To take such trouble with your gear.

Mrs, Oegood

Fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim.

Are beams of a wintry day ;
How cold and dim those beams would be

Should life's poor wanderer come !

Mrs. Hale


What &tes impose, that men must needs abide ;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

Shake, Henry VL Pari III
Success, the mark no mortal wit,
Or surest hand, can always hit ;
For whatsoe'er we perpetrate.
We do but row; we 're steer'd by fkte,
Which in success oft disinherits,

For spurious causes, noblest merits.

BuderU Hudihrae,

On what strange grounds we build our hopes and

Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark
Our fortunes meet us.
If fate be not, then what can we foresee ^
And how can we avoid it if it be 7
If by free will in our own paths we move.
How are we bounded by decrees above 7
Whether we drive, or whether we are driven,
If ill, 'tis ours; if good, the act of heav'n.

Alas, what stay is there in human state.
Or who can shun inevitable fate 7
The doom was written, the decree was past.
Ere the foundations of the worM were cast


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The ^ods are juft;
But how can finite measure infinite 7
Whatever it, is in its causes just,
Since all things are by fiite, but poor blind man
Sees but a part o* th* chain, the nearest link«
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam

That poises all above.


It was my fate,
That did not fiuhion me for nobler uses ;
For if those stars, cross to me in my birth.
Had not denied their prosperous influence to it,
I might have ceased to be, and not as now
To curse my being.


Man, tho' limited
By fiite, may vainly think his actions free,
While all he does, was, at his hour of birth.

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