Shelter and succour such as common men Afford the weaker partners of their fate, Have I derived from thee—from thee, most great And powerful genius! whose sublime control Still from thy grave governs each human soul, That reads the wondrous record of thy pen. From sordid sorrows thou hast set me free, And turned from want’s grim ways my tottering feet, And to sad empty hours, given royally, A labour, than all leisure far more sweet. The daily bread, for which we humbly pray, Thou gavest me as if I were a child, And still with converse noble, wise, and mild, Charmed with despair my sinking soul away; Shall I not bless the need, to which was given Of all the angels in the host of heaven, Thee, for my guardian, spirit strong and bland! Lord of the speech of my dear native land! _Poems._ 1866, p. 61. JOHN RUSKIN, 1868 (1819-1900) It does not matter how little, or how much, any of us have read, either of Homer, or Shakespeare: everything round us, in substance, or in thought, has been moulded by them. All Greek gentlemen were educated under Homer. All Roman gentlemen by Greek literature. All Italian, and French, and English gentlemen, by Roman literature, and by its principles. Of the scope of Shakespeare, I will say only, that the intellectual measure of every man since born, in the domains of creative thought, may be assigned to him, according to the degree in which he has been taught by Shakespeare. _The Mystery of Life and its Arts._ Afternoon Lectures on Literature and Art, delivered at Royal College of Science, St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin, 1867 and 1868. 1869, p. 109. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, 1871 (1828-1882) “_On the Site of a Mulberry-Tree._” _Planted by William Shakespeare; felled by the Rev. F. Gastrell._ This tree, here fall’n, no common birth or death Shared with its kind. The world’s enfranchised son, Who found the trees of Life and Knowledge one, Here set it, frailer than his laurel-wreath. Shall not the wretch whose hand it fell beneath Rank also singly—the supreme unhung? Lo! Sheppard, Turpin, pleading with black tongue, This viler thief’s unsuffocated breath! We’ll search thy glossary, Shakespeare! whence almost, And whence alone, some name shall be reveal’d For this deaf drudge, to whom no length of years Sufficed to catch the music of the spheres; Whose soul is carrion now,—too mean to yield Some Starveling’s ninth allotment of a ghost. _Academy_, 15 Feb. 1871.[185:1] _Collected Works._ Ed. W. M. Rossetti. 1886, vol. i. p. 285. FOOTNOTES: