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Monuments: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

The tap'ring pyramid, the Egyptian's pride, And wonder of the world, whose spiky top Has wounded the thick cloud.— BLAIR — The Grave. L. 190.

Gold once out of the earth is no more due unto it; what was unreasonably committed to the ground, is reasonably resumed from it; let monuments and rich fabricks, not riches, adorn men's ashes.— SIR THOMAS BROWNE — Hydriotaphia. Ch. III.

To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without injury to our expectations in the advent of the last day, were a contradiction to our belief.— SIR THOMAS BROWNE — Hydriotaphia. Ch. V.

But monuments themselves memorials need.— CRABBE — The Borough. Letter II.

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.— KEATS — Stanzas.

In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!— LONGFELLOW — By the Fireside.

A Christmas Carol. In cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.— POPE — Dunciad. Bk. I. L. 77.

When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?— Shakespeare — Cymbeline. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 36.

The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.— WHITTIER — Snow-Bound.

You shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast, Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was "the scourge of God."— EDWARD EVERETT — Alaric the Visigoth.

Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain suit, and a rich monument is one embroidered.— FULLER — The Holy and Profane States. Bk. III. Of Tombs.

I have completed a monument more lasting than brass, and more sublime than the regal elevation of pyramids, which neither the wasting shower, the unavailing north-wind, or an innumerable succession of years, and the flight of seasons, shall be able to demolish.— HORACE — Bk. III. Ode XXX.

Smart's trans. Thou, in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument.— MILTON — Epitaph. On Shakespeare.

Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.— POPE — Moral Essays. Ep. III. L. 339.

She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.— Shakespeare — Twelfth Night. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 117.

This grave shall have a living monument.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 320.

MOON (THE). Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth.— ADDISON — Spectator. No. 465. Ode.

The moon is a silver pin-head vast, That holds the heaven's tent-hangings fast.— WM. R. ALGER — Oriental Poetry. The

Use of the Moon. The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.— BRYANT — The Tides.

Doth the moon care for the barking of a dog?— BURTON — Anatomy of Melancholy. Pt. II. Sec. III. Mem. 7.

He made an instrument to know If the moon shine at full or no; That would, as soon as e'er she shone straight, Whether 'twere day or night demonstrate; Tell what her d'ameter to an inch is, And prove that she's not made of green cheese.— BUTLER — Hudibras. Pt. II. Canto III. L. 261.

The moon pull'd off her veil of light, That hides her face by day from sight (Mysterious veil, of brightness made, That's both her lustre and her shade,) And in the lantern of the night, With shining horns hung out her light,— BUTLER — Hudibras. Pt. II. Canto I. L. 905.

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon Their nomenclature; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way, On which three single hours of moonshine smile- And then she looks so modest all the while!— BYRON — Don Juan. Canto I. St. 113.

MOON (THE). The sun had sunk and the summer skies Were dotted with specks of light That melted soon in the deep moon-rise That flowed over Groton Height.— MCDONALD CLARKE — The Graveyard.

The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide; Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside.— COLERIDGE — The Ancient Mariner. Pt. IV.

How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon From the slow opening curtains of the clouds; Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!— GEORGE CROLY — Diana.

As the moon's fair image quaketh In the raging waves of ocean, Whilst she, in the vault of heaven, Moves with silent peaceful motion.— HEINE — Book of Songs. New Spring. Prologue. No. 23.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed-secure from dread?— HOOD — Ode to the Moon.

The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shady-now bright and sunny- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon-so called-of honey!— HOOD — Miss Kilmansegg. Her

Honeymoon. The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows, Far west, among those flowers of the shadows, The thin, clear crescent lustrous over her, Made Ruth raise question, looking through the bars Of heaven, with eyes half-oped, what God, what comer Unto the harvest of the eternal summer, Had flung his golden hook down on the field of stars.— VICTOR HUGO — Boaz Asleep.

Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine. JEAN INGELOw-Songs of the Night Watches. The First Watch. Pt. II. MOON (THE). Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver car, State in wonted manner keep. Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess, excellently bright!— BEN JONSON — Hymn. To Cynthia.

The moon put forth a little diamond peak No bigger than an unobserved star, Or tiny point of fairy cimetar.— KEATS — Endymion. Bk. IV. L. 499.

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon.— LELAND — The Swan.

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their aerial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests.— LONGFELLOW — The Harvest Moon.

See yonder fire! It is the moon Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, And through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, And makes the heart in love with night.— LONGFELLOW — Christus.

The Golden Legend. Pt. VI. L. 462. The dews of summer night did fall; The moon (sweet regent of the sky) Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.— WM. J. MICKLE — Cumnor Hall.

Let the air strike our tune, Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moon.— THOMAS MIDDLETON — The Witch. Act V. Sc. 2.

*** now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host rode brightest, till the Moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 604.

The moon looks On many brooks, The brook can see no moon but this.— MOORE — Irish Melodies. While Gazing

on the Moon's Light. Hail, pallid crescent, hail! Let me look on thee where thou sitt'st for aye Like memory-ghastly in the glare of day, But in the evening, light.— D. M. MULOCK — The Moon in the

Morning. MOON (THE). No rest-no dark. Hour after hour that passionless bright face Climbs up the desolate blue.— D. M. MULOCK — Moon-Struck.

Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi' the auld moon in hir arme.— THOMAS PERCY — Reliques. Sir Patrick

Spens. See also Scott-Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. He *** thought the moon was made of green cheese.— RABELAIS — Works. Bk. I. Ch. XI.

Day glimmer'd in the east, and the white Moon Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky.— SAM'L ROGERS — Italy. The Lake of

Geneva. Again thou reignest in thy golden hall, Rejoicing in thy sway, fair queen of night! The ruddy reapers hail thee with delight: Theirs is the harvest, theirs the joyous call For tasks well ended ere the season's fall.— ROSCOE — Sonnet. To the Harvest Moon.

The sun was gone now; the curled moon was like a little feather Fluttering far down the gulf.— D. G. ROSSETTI — The Blessed Damozel. St. 10.

Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee; I prithee, dear moon, now show to me The form and the features, the speech and degree, Of the man that true lover of mine shall be.— SCOTT — Heart of Mid-Lothian. Ch. XVII.

If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.— SCOTT — Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto II. St. 1.

How slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame or a dowager Long withering out a young man's revenue. S. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 3. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.— Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 54.

It is the very error of the moon : She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.— Shakespeare — Othello. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 109.

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle That's curded by the frost from purest snow.— Shakespeare — Coriolanus. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 65.

MOON (THE). Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound : And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 103. Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, - And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?— SHELLEY — To the Moon.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon. C.— SHELLEY — The Cloud. IV.

The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.— SHELLEY — Hellas. Semi-Chorus II.

With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face!— SIR PHILIP SIDNEY — Astrophel and

Stella. Sonnet XXXI. The Moon arose: she shone upon the lake, Which lay one smooth expanse of silver light; She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast Upon their hollows and their hidden glens A blacker depth of shade.— SOUTHEY — Madoc. Pt. II. The Close

of the Century. I with borrow'd silver shine, What you see is none of mine. First I show you but a quarter, Like the bow that guards the Tartar: Then the half, and then the whole, Ever dancing round the pole.— SWIFT — On the Moon.

As like the sacred queen of night, Who pours a lovely, gentle light Wide o'er the dark, by wanderers blest, Conducting them to peace and rest.— THOMSON — Ode to Seraphina.

The crimson Moon, uprising from the sea, With large delight, foretells the harvest near.— LORD THURLOW — Select Poems. The

Harvest Moon. And suddenly the moon withdraws Her sickle from the lightening skies, And to her sombre cavern flies, Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.— OSCAR WILDE — La Fuite de la Lune.