"Of these two literatures, as of the intellect of Europe in general, the main effort, for now many years, has been a critical effort; the endeavour, in all branches of knowledge — theology, philosophy, history, art, science — to see the object as in itself it really is."

"Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine."

"for like the lightning to this field I came, and like the wind I go away — Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind."

"So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead. And the great Rustum drew his horseman’s cloak Down o’er his face, and sate by his dead son. As those black granite pillars, once high-rear’d By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear His house, now, mid their broken flights of steps, Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side — So in the sand lay Rustum by his son."

"No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand."

"as the vast tide Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore At the full moon."

"his own early youth, And all its bounding rapture"

"For a cloud Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darked the sun."

"Coldly, sadly descends The autumn evening. The Field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither’d leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, Silent;—hardly a shout From a few boys late at their play!"

"An unlopp’d trunk it was, and huge, Still rough; like those which men in treeless plains ... fish from the flooded rivers."

"Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul?"

"and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer-time — The castle and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills In Ader-baijan."

"Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words!"

"And he saw that Youth, Of age and looks to be his own dear son, Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, Like some rich hyacinth, which by the scythe Of an unskillful gardener has been cut, Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, On the mown, dying grass; — so Sohrab lay, Lovely in death, upon the common sand. And Rustum gazed on him with grief."

"And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail’d; but the Tartars knew not who he was."

"For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands."

"The grand style arises in poetry, when a noble nature, poetically gifted, treats with simplicity or with severity a serious subject."

"O strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain!"

"He has the wild stag’s foot, the lion’s heart."

"But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow; Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow, Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves Slake their parched throats with sugar’d mulberries — In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o’er hanging snows — So the pale Persians held their breath with fear."

"The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home And reared him, a bright bay with lofty crest."

"When the dew glistens on the pearlèd ears, A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy."

"And the first grey of morning fill’d the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush’d, and still the men were plunged in sleep."

"and now The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa’s tent."

"He slept light, an old man's sleep."

"Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade, With a free, onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver’d branches of the glade."

"Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will’d, Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill’d; For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new; Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day — Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?"

"And amongst us one, Who most has suffer’d, takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne."

"for it is not yet clear dawn. Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?"

"O born in days when wits were fresh and clear, And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames; Before this strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims, Its heads o’ertax’d, its palsied hearts, was rife — Fly hence, our contact fear!"

"Tired of knocking at preferment's door."

"Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer-nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe, Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, As the punt’s rope chops round."

"Rapt, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray, And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall."

"All the live murmur of a summer's day."

"All night long I lie Tossing and wakeful, and I come."

"The day in his hotness, The strife with the palm; The night in her silence, The stars in their calm."

"Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill."

"The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall."

"Is it so small a thing To have enjoy’d the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanc’d true friends, and beat down baffling foes?"

"Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; ... And there, they say, two bright and aged snakes, Who once were Cadmus and Harmonia, Bask in the glens or on the warm sea-shore, In breathless quiet, after all their ills."

"Because thou must not dream, thou needst not then despair!"

"So, loath to suffer mute. We, peopling the void air, Make Gods to whom to impute The ills we ought to bear."

"Thou hast no right to bliss."

"We do not what we ought, What we ought not, we do, And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers."

"Not here, O Apollo Are haunts meet for thee. But, where Helicon breaks down In cliff to the sea."

"and left His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay, And o’er his chilly limbs his woollen coat He pass’d."

"Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away."

"He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth."

"Time may restore us in his course Goethe’s sage mind and Byron’s force; But where will Europe’s latter hour Again find Wordsworth’s healing power?"

"Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole."