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Majestic flower! How purely beautiful

Thou art, as rising from thy bower of green, Those dark and glossy leaves so thick and full, Thou standest like a high-born forest queen Among thy maidens clustering round so fair,I love to watch thy sculptured form unfolding, And look into thy depths, to image there

A fairy cavern, and while thus beholding, And while thy breeze floats o'er thee, matchless flower,

I breathe the perfume, delicate and strong, That comes like incense from thy petal-bower;

My fancy roams those southern woods along, Beneath that glorious tree, where deep among The unsunned leaves thy large white flowercups hung!

C. P. CRANCH-Poem to the Magnolia Grandiflora.

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M

The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed
In vision beatific.

MILTON-Paradise Lost. Bk. I. L. 678.

12

Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor. POPE Moral Essays. Ep. III. L. 171.

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Man only, rash, refined, presumptuous Man-
Starts from his rank, and mars Creation's plan!
Born the free heir of nature's wide domain,
To art's strict limits bounds his narrow'd reign;
Resigns his native rights for meaner things,
For Faith and Fetters, Laws and Priests and
Kings.

Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin. The Progress of
Man. L. 55.

16

Non è un si bello in tante altre persone,
Natura il fece, e poi roppa la stampa.

There never was such beauty in another man. Nature made him, and then broke the mould. ARIOSTO Orlando Furioso. Canto X. St. 84. L'on peut dire sans hyperbole, que la nature, que la après l'avoir fait en cassa la moule. ANGELO CONSTANTINI-La Vie de Scaramouche. L. 107. (Ed. 1690)

17

(See also BYRON, MONTGOMERY)

Ye children of man! whose life is a span Protracted with sorrow from day to day, Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous, Sickly, calamitous creatures of clay.

ARISTOPHANES Birds. Trans. by JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE.

18

Let each man think himself an act of God. His mind a thought, his life a breath of God. BAILEY-Festus. Proem. L. 162.

19

Man is the nobler growth our realms supply And souls are ripened in our northern sky.

ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD-The Invitation.

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