His sovereign's frown came next'Then bow'd the banners on his crested walls, Torn by the enemies' hand from their proud height;
Where twice two hundred years they mock'd the
The stranger's step profan'd his desolate halls,
An exil'd, outcast, houseless, nameless object,
He fled for life, and scarce by flight did save it.
No hoary beadsman bid his parting step
God speed-no faithful vassal follow'd him ;
For fear had wither'd every heart but hers,
Who amid shame and ruin lov'd him better.
Maturin's Bertram.
Ah! then as nature's tenderest impulse wrought,
With fond solicitude of love she sought
To soothe his limbs upon their grassy bed,
And make the pillow easy to his head;
She wiped his recking temples with her hair,
She shook the leaves to stir the sleeping air,
Moisten'd his lips with kisses; with her breath,
Vainly essay'd to quell the fire of death,
That ran and revell'd through his swollen veins
With quicker pulses, and severer pains.
Oh! the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns to her god when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose. Moore.
Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer! Tho' the herd hath fled from thee, thy home is still here;
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last?
Moore.
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd, thou never could'st shake,
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 't was not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.
Then let the fool, still prone to range
And sneer on all who cannot change,
Partake his jest with boasting boys,
I envy not his varied joys,
Montgomery's World before the Flood. But deem such feeble, heartless man,
Thought ye your iron hands of pride
Could break the knot that love had tied ?
No:-
let the eagle change his plume,
The leaf its hue, the flow'r its bloom;
But ties around this heart were spun,
That could not, would not, be undone!
Less than yon solitary swan;
Far, far beneath the shallow maid He left believing, and betray'd.
That's false a truer, nobler, trustier heart,
More loving, or more loyal, never beat
Within a human breast. I would not change
My exiled, persecuted, mangled husband,
Oppress'd but not disgrac'd, crush'd, overwhelm'd,
Alive, or dead, for prince or paladin
In story or in fable, with a world
To back his suit. Dishonour'd!-he dishonour'd.
I tell thee, doge, 't is Venice is dishonour'd.
Byron's Two Foscari.
Where is honour,
Innate and precept-strengthen'd, 't is the rock
Of faith connubial: where it is not — where
Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities
Were to change by to-morrow, and melt in my Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,
Like fairy-gifts, fading away!
Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know
'T were hopeless for humanity to dream
Thou would'st still be ador'd, as this moment thou Of honesty in such infected blood,
art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
Although 't were wed to him it covets most.
Byron's Doge of Venice.
And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart Vice cannot fix, and virtue cannot change,
Would entwine itself verdantly still!
It is not, while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;
For vice must have variety, while virtue
Stands like the sun, and all which rolls around
Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect
Byron's Doge of Venice
O thou world, great nurse of flattery,
O, that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!
Shakspeare
Who dares
In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say, this man's a flatterer? if one be,
So are they all; for every grize of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany.
Shaks. Timon of Athens.
Why these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seck to thrive
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou 'lt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent.
Shaks. Timon of Athens.
He loves to hear,
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flatter'd.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood,
That will be thaw'd from the true quality
With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet
words,
Low-crook'd curt'sics, and base spaniel fawning.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Nay, do not think I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
Ben Jonson. To feed, and clothe thee? why should the poor be
Why dost thou tip men's tongues with golden No, let the candy'd tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.
And poise their deeds with weight of heavy lead,
That fair performance cannot follow promise?
( that a man might hold the heart's close book
And choke the lavish tongue, when it doth utter
The breath of falsehood, not character'd there.
Anon. Edward III.
Why what a deal of candied courtesy,
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
LOOK --when his infant fortune came to age,
And-gentle Harry Percy, and, kind cousin,
The devil take such cozeners!-God forgive me!
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.
And think with wagging of your tongue to win
Shaks. Henry VIIL
You are far too prodigal in praise,
And crown me with the garlands of your merit;
As we meet barks on rivers-the strong gale
Being best friend to us-our swift motion
Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows;
Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes
Davenport's City Night-Cap.
Flatt'ry, the food of courts! that I may rock him,
And lull him in down of his desires.
The firmest purpose of a woman's heart
To well-tim'd, artful flattery may yield.
There are, who to my person pay their court;
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Beaumont's Rolla. Such Ovid's nose, and, sir! you have an eye!
Go on, obliging creature, make me see,
All that disgrac'd my betters, met in me;
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just so immortal Maro held his head;
And when I die, be sure you let me know,
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.
Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot
Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds,
Pernicious flattery! thy malignant seeds,
In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand,
Sadly diffus'd o'er virtue's gleby land,
With rising pride amidst the corn appear,
And choke the hopes and harvest of the
Prior's Soloman.
No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by 't:
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flatt'ry in thy nature, out with 't;
Or send it to a court, for there 't will thrive.
Otway's Orphan.
Let me be grateful; but let far from me
Be fawning cringe, and false dissembling look,
And servile flattery, that harbours oft
In courts and gilded roofs.
How soon thy smooth insinuating oil
Supples the toughest fool!
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.
Goldsmith's Retaliation.
Flatt'ry but ill becomes a soldier's mouth;
Leave we the practice of those meaner arts
To smooth-tongued statesmen, and betraying cour-
tiers.
Marsh's Amasis.
Beware of flattery, 't is a weed
Which oft offends the very idol — vice,
Whose shrine it would perfume.
His fiery temper brooks not opposition,
And must be met with soft and supple arts,
With crouching courtesy, and honey'd words,
Such as assuage the fierce, and bend the strong.
Rowe's Lady Jane Grey.
Minds,
By nature great, are conscious of their greatness,
And hold it mean to borrow aught from flattery.
Rowe's Royal Convert.
Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we see,
And (stranger still!) of blockhead's flattery,
Whose praise defames; as if a fool should mean,
By spitting on your face, to make it clean.
"Tis an old maxim in the schools,
That flattery's the food of fools,
Yet now and then you men of wit
Will condescend to take a bit.
No adulation; 't is the death of virtue!
Who flatters is of all mankind the lowest,
Save he who courts the flatterer.
I pass through flattery's gilded sieve
Whatever I would say.
Alas! the praise given to the car
Ne'er was nor ne'er can be sincere.
I would give worlds, could I believe
One half that is profess'd me;
Affection! could I think it Thee,
When Flattery has caress'd me.
Oh! it is worse than mockery
To list the flatterer's tone,
Swift's Cadenus and Vanessa. To lend a ready ear to thoughts
Sirs, adulation is a fatal thing-
Rank poison for a subject, or a king.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.
The cheek must blush to own --
To hear the red lip whisper'd of
And the flowing curl and eye
In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears; Then gather a wreath from the garden bowers, And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers.'
God might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small,
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all.
He might have made enough, enough
For every want of ours:
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.
Our outward life requires them not
Then wherefore have they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;
To comfort man to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers,
Will much more care for him!
FLOOD. (See also DELUGE.)
And now the thicken'd sky
Like a dark ceiling stood: down rush'd the rain Impetuous, and continued till the earth
Sea without shore; and in their palaces
Where luxury late reign'd, sea monsters whelp'd
And stabled, of mankind so numerous late,
All left, in one small bottom swum embark'd.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Then came the thunder peal once more,
And the shrieking wind and the ocean roar,-
And the gallopping waves on the crumbling shore,
And the muttering earthquake's groan!
Then the sea rose up with a sudden swell,
And the heavy clouds unbroken fell; -
Till over each valley, and plain, and dell,
The sea, like a pall, was thrown!
As I do live by food, I met a fool,
Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun, Who rail'd on lady fortune in good terms,
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