Opening the text

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

But _Fame_, alarmed, o’er Libya’s cities flies:
    _Fame_, the most fleet of mischief’s progenies:
    Who gathers speed from every passing hour;
    Grows as she moves, and travels into power.
    Timid and small at first, at length she shrouds,
    While treading on the ground, her forehead in the clouds.
    Offended at the gods, great parent Earth,
    ’Tis said, in vengeance gave the monster birth,
    Of all her giant family the last;
    A swift-wing’d portent, foul, deform’d, and vast,
    Beneath each numerous plume, that lifts her flight,
    An active eye extends her scope of sight.
    As many ears, and mouths, and tongues she moves,
    To catch and spread the rumours as she roves.
    Midway ’twixt heaven and earth, through night she flies
    Clanging, nor bathes in dewy sleep her eyes.
    By day she keeps on watch, and takes her stand
    On some high roof or tower of wide command;
    And thence, alike for truth or falsehood loud,
    She shakes the city and distracts the crowd.
                                       _Symmons, from Virgil._


    Let _fame_, that all hunt after in their lives,
    Live register’d upon our brazen tombs,
    And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
    When, spite of cormorant-devouring time,
    The endeavour of his present death may buy
    That honour, which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge,
    And makes us heirs of all eternity.
                                              _Shakspere._


    Then straight thro’ all the world ’gan _fame_ to fly;
      A monster swifter none is under sun;
    Increasing, as in waters we discry
    The circles small, of nothing that begun,
    Till of the drops, which from the skies do fall,
    The circles spread and hide the waters all.
                                              _Sackville._


    _Fame_ is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
      (That last infirmity of noble minds)
    To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
      _Fame_ is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
      Nor in the glittering foil,
    Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies.
                                               _Milton._


    For _fame_ the wretch beneath the gallows lies,
    Disowning every crime for which he dies,
    Of life profuse, 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.
    To extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
    And give an earnest of a life to come;
    For, if when dead, we are but dust or clay,
    Why think of what posterity shall say?
    Her praise or censure cannot us concern,
    Nor ever penetrate the silent urn.
                                    _Soame Jennins._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

But _Fame_, alarmed, o’er Libya’s cities flies:
    _Fame_, the most fleet of mischief’s progenies:
    Who gathers speed from every passing hour;
    Grows as she moves, and travels into power.
    Timid and small at first, at length she shrouds,
    While treading on the ground, her forehead in the clouds.
    Offended at the gods, great parent Earth,
    ’Tis said, in vengeance gave the monster birth,
    Of all her giant family the last;
    A swift-wing’d portent, foul, deform’d, and vast,
    Beneath each numerous plume, that lifts her flight,
    An active eye extends her scope of sight.
    As many ears, and mouths, and tongues she moves,
    To catch and spread the rumours as she roves.
    Midway ’twixt heaven and earth, through night she flies
    Clanging, nor bathes in dewy sleep her eyes.
    By day she keeps on watch, and takes her stand
    On some high roof or tower of wide command;
    And thence, alike for truth or falsehood loud,
    She shakes the city and distracts the crowd.
                                       _Symmons, from Virgil._


    Let _fame_, that all hunt after in their lives,
    Live register’d upon our brazen tombs,
    And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
    When, spite of cormorant-devouring time,
    The endeavour of his present death may buy
    That honour, which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge,
    And makes us heirs of all eternity.
                                              _Shakspere._


    Then straight thro’ all the world ’gan _fame_ to fly;
      A monster swifter none is under sun;
    Increasing, as in waters we discry
    The circles small, of nothing that begun,
    Till of the drops, which from the skies do fall,
    The circles spread and hide the waters all.
                                              _Sackville._


    _Fame_ is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
      (That last infirmity of noble minds)
    To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
      _Fame_ is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
      Nor in the glittering foil,
    Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies.
                                               _Milton._


    For _fame_ the wretch beneath the gallows lies,
    Disowning every crime for which he dies,
    Of life profuse, 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.
    To extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
    And give an earnest of a life to come;
    For, if when dead, we are but dust or clay,
    Why think of what posterity shall say?
    Her praise or censure cannot us concern,
    Nor ever penetrate the silent urn.
                                    _Soame Jennins._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

No reviews yet