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12 As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pine-tree through my thought And fanned the dreams it never brought. EMERSON.—Woodnotes. II.

13 Like two cathedral towers these stately pines Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;

e arch beneath them is not built with stones,

Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabasque of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones,
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship without words.

LONGFELLow—Sonnets. My Cathedral.

14 Under the yaller pines I house, When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin' west-wind purr contented. Lowell—The Biglow Papers. Second Series. No. 10.

15 The pine is the mother of legends. Lowell—The Growth of a Legend.

16 To archèd walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,

pine. MILTON.—Il Penseroso. L. 133.

17 Here also grew the rougher rinded pine, The great ship's brave ornament.

SPENSER—Virgil's Gnat. L. 209.

18 Ancient Pines, Ye bear no record of the years of man. Spring is your sole historian.

BAYARD TAYLOR-The Pine Forest of Monterey.

19 Stately Pines, But few more years around the promontory Your chant will meet the thunders of the sea.

BAYARD TAYLOR-The Pine Forest of Monterey.

PINK Dianthus 20 You take a pink, You dig about its roots and water it, And so improve it to a garden-pink, But will not change it to a heliotrope. E. B. B.Rowning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. VI.

21 And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer. BURNs—O Luwe Will Venture In.

22 The beauteous pink I would not slight. Pride of the ener's leisure. GoFTHE–The Floweret Wondrous Fair. St. 8. John S. Dwight's trans.

14 1 PITY Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, Of all the paths that lead to a woman's love That sees into the bottom of my grief? Pity's the straightest. Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 5. L. 198.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER—Knight of Malta. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 73. (See also DRYDEN, SHERIDAN, SouTHERNE) 2 Pity, some say, is the parent of future love. BEAUMONTAND FLETCHER—Spanish Curate. Act W. Sc. 1.

3 Pity speaks to grief More sweetly than a band of instruments. BARRY CORNWALL-Florentine Party.

4 For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour but an empty bubble. DRYDEN–Alexander's Feast. L. 96. (See also BEAUMONT)

5

More helpful than all wisdom is one draught of simple human pity that will not forsake us.

Goof ELIOT-Mill on the Floss. Bk. VII.

6 Taught by that Power that pities me,

I learn to pity them.

GoLDSMITH-Hermit. St. 6.

7 Laplaincte et la commiseration sont meslees à quelque estimation de la chose qu'on plaind. Pity and commiseration are mixed with some regard for the thing which one pities. MoNTAIGNE–Essays. Bk. I. Ch. L.

8 At length some pity warm'd the master's breast ('Twas then, his threshold first receiv'd a guest), Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shivering pair.

PARNELL–The Hermit. L. 97.

9 O God, show compassion on the wicked. The virtuous have already been blessed by Thee in being virtuous.

Prayer of a Persian Dervish.

10

My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,

My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs. Henry VI. Pt. III. Act IV. Sc. 8. L. 41.

11 Myfriend, I spy some pity in thy looks; O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress:

begging prince what beggar pities not?

Richard III. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 270.

12 Tear-falling pity dwells not in his eye.

Richard III. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 66.

13 I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me: Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?

Richard III. Act W. Sc. 3. L. 200.

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