What fairy-like music steals over the sea,
Entrancing our senses with charmed melody?
Mrs. M. C. Wilson—What Fairy-like Music.
Where music dwells
Lingering, and wandering on as loth to die:
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.
Wordsworth—Ecclesiastical Sonnets. Pt. III.
63. Inside of King's Chapel, Cambridge.
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
Wordsworth—A Morning Exercise.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Music
| page = 541
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 4
| text = Soft is the music that would charm forever:
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.
Wordsworth—Not Love, Not War.
Sweetest melodies
Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
Wordsworth—Personal Talk. St. 2.
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
Wordsworth—The Solitary Reaper.
MYRTLE
Myrtys Communis
Myrtus Communis
Nor myrtle—which means chiefly love: and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings.
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consigned by Venus to Melissa's hand) Not less capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favors, oft rejects a lover's prayer; In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.</poem>
Dark-green and gemm'd with flowers of snow,
With close uncrowded branches spread
Not proudly high, nor meanly low,
A graceful myrtle rear'd its head.
While the myrtle, now idly entwin'd with bis crown.
Like the wreath of Harmodius, shall cover his sword.
N
NAME
Oh! no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word.
Je ne puis rien nommer si ce n'est par son nom;
J'appelle un chat un chat, et Rollet un fripon.
I can call nothing by name if that is not his name. I call a cat a cat, and Rollet a rogue.</poem>
Call a spade a spade.
| author = Burton
| work = Anatomy of Melancholy.
| place = Democritis
Junior to the Beader. P. 11. Scaltnger—
Note on the Priapeia Sive Diversorum Poetarum. Baxter—Narrative of the Most Memorable Passages of Life and Times. (1696)
Dr. Arbuthnot—Dissertations on the Art
of Selling Bargains. Philip op Macedon.
See Plutarch's Life of Philip.
| seealso = (See also Boileau, Erasmus, Gifford, Jonson,
Swfar)
| topic = Name
| page = 541
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 14
| text = <poem>He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.
Byron—The Corsair. Canto III. St. 24.
I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be.
Oh, Amos Cottle!—Phoebus! what a name!
| author = Byron
| work = English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
L. 399.
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name.
Campbell—Pleasures of Hope. Pt. II. L. 5.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Name
| page = 541
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Ah! replied my gentle fair.
Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suits the line:
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage, or Doris,
Only, only, call me thine.
Coleridge—What's in a Name.
Some to the fascination of a name,
Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
"Brooks of Sheffield": "'Somebody's sharp.' "Who is?'" asked the gentleman, laughing. I looked up quickly, being curious to know. "Only Brooks of Sheffield," said Mr. Murdstone. I was glad to find it was only Brooks of Sheffield; for at first I really thought that it was I.
