Of all the passions which possess the soul, None so disturbs vain mortals' minds, As vain Ambition, which so blinds
The light of them, that nothing can control, Nor curb their thoughts who will aspire; This raging, vehement desire
Of sovereignty no satisfaction finds,
But in the breasts of men doth ever roll The restless stone of Sisyph' to torment them, And as his heart, who stole the heav'nly fire, The vulture gnaws, so doth that monster rent them : Had they the world, the world would not content them.-Earl of Sterline.
No toil, no hardship can restrain Ambitious man inured to pain; The more confined, the more he tries, And at forbidden quarry flies.-Dryden.
To the expanded and aspiring soul,
To be but still the thing it long has been, Is misery, e'en though enthroned it were Under the cope of high imperial state. Joanna Baillie.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire And motion in the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire, Beyond the fitting medium of desire; And but once kindled, quenchless evermore Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears,-to all who ever bore.
This makes the madmen, who have made men mad By their contagion, conquerors and kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add
Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet not enviable! what stings
Are theirs! one breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule.-Byron.
Their breath is agitation, and their life
A storm whereon they ride to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. Byron.
165. AMBITION. True
FIRST, what is true Ambition? The pursuit Of glory nothing less than man can share. Were they as vain as gaudy-minded man, As flatulent with fumes of self-applause, Their arts and conquests animals might boast, And claim their laurel crowns as well as we; But not celestial. Here, we stand alone;
As in our form, distinct, pre-eminent.
If prone in thought, our stature is our shame; And man should blush his forehead meets the skies. The visible and present are for brutes; A slender portion! and a narrow bound! These, Reason, with an energy divine, O'erleaps, and climbs the future and unseen, The vast unseen! the future fathomless! When the great soul buoys up to this high point, And leaves gross Nature's sediments below, Then, and then only, Adam's offspring quits The sage and hero of the fields and woods, Asserts his rank, and rises into man. This is ambition; this is human fire. Other ambition Nature interdicts; Nature proclaims it most absurd in man By pointing at his origin and end: Milk and a swathe, at first, his whole demand- His whole domain, at last, a turf, a stone;
To whom, between, a world may seem too small. Young.
166. AMBITION. Universal
Each villager has his ambition too; No sultan prouder than his fetter'd slave: Slaves build their little Babylons of straw, Echo the proud Assyrian in their hearts, And cry-Behold the wonders of my might!'
IT open'd the niggard's purse; clothed nakedness; Gave beggars food; and threw the Pharisee Upon his knees, and kept him long in act
Of prayer. It spread the lace upon the fop,
His language trimm'd, and plann'd his curious gait; It stuck the feather on the gay coquette, And on her finger laid the heavy load Of jewelry; it did—what did it not?
The gospel preach'd, the gospel paid, and sent The gospel; conquer'd nations; cities built; Measured the furrow of the field with nice Directed share; shaped bulls, and cows, and rams: And threw the ponderous stone; and pitiful, Indeed, and much against the grain, it dragg'd The stagnant, dull, predestinated fool, Through learning's halls, and made him labour much Abortively; though sometimes not unpraised. He left the sage's chair, and home return'd, Making his simple mother think that she In schools, design'd to root Sin up, and plant the seeds of holiness In youthful minds, it held a signal place. The little infant man, by nature proud,
For they are strong supporters; but, till then, The greatest are but growing gentlemen. It is a wretched thing to trust to reeds, Which all men do that urge not their own deeds Up to their ancestors'; the river's side,
By which you're planted, shows your fruit shall bide. Hang all your rooms with one large pedigree; 'Tis virtue alone is true nobility;
Which virtue from your father ripe will fall; Study illustrious him, and you have all.-Ben Jonson.
Long galleries of ancestors Challenge nor wonder nor esteem from me: 'Virtue alone is true nobility.'-Dryden.
Do then as your progenitors have done, And by their virtues prove yourself their son. Dryden.
They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, Produce their debt, instead of their discharge. Young.
But by your fathers' work if yours you rate, Count me those only that were good and great. Go! if your ancient but ignoble blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, Go! and pretend your family is young; Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
NOR stand so much on your gentility, Which is an airy and mere borrow'd thing
From dead men's dust and bones; and none of
Except you make or hold it.—Ben Jonson.
Please thy pride, and search the herald's roll, Where thou shalt find thy famous pedigree, Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree, And thou, a thousand off, a fool of long degree. Dryden.
Put off your giant titles, then I can Stand in your judgment's blank and equal man, Though hills advanced are above the plain, They are but higher earth, nor must disdain Alliance with the vale: we see a spade Can level them, and make a mount a glade. Howe'er we differ in the herald's book, He that mankind's extraction shall look In Nature's rolls, must grant we all agree In our best parts, immortal pedigree. - King.
It is, indeed, a blessing, when the virtues Of noble races are hereditary :
And do derive themselves from th' imitation Of virtuous ancestors.-Nabb.
How vain are all hereditary honours, Those poor possessions from another's deeds, Unless our own just virtues form our title And give a sanction to our fond assumption !
Shirley. Men should press forward in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, Your family thread you can't ascend, Without good reason to apprehend You may find it wax'd, at the farther end, By some plebeian vocation!
Or, worse than that, your boasted line May end in a loop of stronger twine,
That plagued some worthy relation! John G. Saxe.
171. ANGELS are always in heaven.
THEN unbeguile thyself, and know with me, That angels, though on earth employ'd they be, Are still in heaven.-Donne.
'Tis your office, spirits bright, Still to guard us night and day, And before your heavenly might Powers of darkness flee away. Ever doth our unseen host Camp around us, and avert All that seek to do us hurt, Curbing Satan's malice most. And ye come on ready wing,
When we drift toward sheer despair, Seeing nought where we might cling, Suddenly, lo! ye are there! And the wearied heart grows strong, As an angel strengthen'd Him, Fainting in the garden dim,
'Neath the world's vast woe and wrong. Johann Rist.
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep : All these with ceaseless praise his works behold, Both day and night. How often from the steep Of echoing h'll or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator! oft in bands While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic number join'd, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven. Milton.
174. ANGELS and men. ANGELS are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad, High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight, And men are angels loaded for an hour, Who wade the miry vale, and climb with pain, And slippery step, the bottom of the steep. Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin, Yet absent, but not absent from their love. Michael has fought our battles, Raphael sung Our triumphs, Gabriel on our errands flown, Sent by the Sovereign; and are these, O man! Thy friends and warm allies, and thou (shame burn Thy cheek to cinder!) rival to the brutes!-Young.
175. ANGELS. Ministry of
AND is there care in heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is: else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts. But, oh, the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves His creatures so, And all His works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels He sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve His wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The glittering skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch, and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward: Oh, why should heavenly God to men have such regard!-Spenser.
Grieve when we sin, rejoice when we repent ; And on the last dread day they shall present The sever'd righteous at His holy hill, With them God's face to see, to do His will, And bear with them His likeness. Was it meant That we this knowledge should in secret seal, Unthought of, unimproving? Rather say, God deign'd to man His angel hosts reveal, That man might learn like angels to obey; And those who long their bliss in heaven to feel, Might strive on earth to serve Him even as they.
My dwelling had been situate beside The myriads of a vast metropolis : But now astonish'd I beheld, and lo!
There were more spirits than men, more habitants Of the thin air than of the solid ground: The firmament was quick with life. As when The prophet's servant look'd from Dothan forth On Syria's thronging multitudes, and saw, His eyes being open'd at Elisha's prayer, Chariots of fire by fiery horses drawn, The squadrons of the sky around the seer Encamping. Thus in numbers numberless The hosts of darkness and of light appear'd Thronging the air. They were not ranged for fight, But mingled host with host, angels with men. Nor was it easy to discern the lost
From the elect. There were no horned fiends As some have fabled, no gaunt skeletons
Of naked horror; but the fallen wore, Even as the holy angels, robes of light; Nor did their ruin otherwise appear
Than in dark passions, envy, and pride, and hate, Which like a brand upon their brow obscured
The lustre of angelic loveliness.
It was not open battle, might with might Contesting; but uninterrupted war Of heavenly faithfulness and hellish craft. By every saint a holy watcher stood; By some a company of blessed spirits ; Each had their ministry assign'd. From some superior chief the watchword pass'd, Or warnings came of stratagems foreseen,
Or tidings from the court of glory sped From lip to lip more quickly than the thoughts Which men decipher from electric signs.
Far off their armour gleam'd. On the other hand The spirits of darkness freely intermix'd With all; innumerable legions arm'd; And, baffled oft, to their respective lords The thrones and principalities of hell Repairing, better learn'd their cursed lore
A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him.-Shakespeare.
Being once chafed, he cannot
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart.—Shakespeare.
Unknit that threat'ning unkind brow;
It blots thy beauty, as frost bites the meads, Confounds thy fame.-Shakespeare.
My rage is not malicious; like a spark Of fire by steel enforced out of a flint, It is no sooner kindled, but extinct. —Goff. When anger rushes, unrestrain'd, to action, Like a hot steed, it stumbles in its way: The man of thought strikes deepest, and strikes safest.-Savage.
Those hearts that start at once into a blaze, And open all their rage, like summer storms At once discharged grow cool again and calm. C. Johnson.
Senseless, and deform'd,
Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale And silent, settles into full revenge.
Loud complaint, however angrily It shakes its phrase, is little to be fear'd, And less distrusted.-Byron.
THE heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life,
Nor feels their happiness augment his own.
Verily, they are all thine: freely mayest thou serve thee of them all :
They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be used in all gratitude and kindness;
Gratitude to their God and thine,-their Father and thy Father,
Kindness to them who toil for thee, and help thee with their all:
For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying: for burden, but with limits of humanity.
For luxury, but not through torture: for draught, but according to the strength:
For a dog cannot plead his own right, nor render a reason for exemption,
Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside the undeserved lash;
A thing that makes a man so deform'd, so beastly, The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate a As doth intemp'rate anger.-Webster.
The elephant is never won with anger;
Nor must that man, who would reclaim a lion, Take him by the teeth.-Dryden.
Madness and anger differ but in this,
This is short madness, that long anger is.—Aleyn. Where there's
Power to punish, 'tis tyranny to rage; Anger is no attribute of justice;
'Tis true she's painted with a sword, but looks As if she held it not; though war be in Her hand, yet peace dwells in her face.
The spent horse hideth his distress, till he panteth out his spirit at the goal;
Also, in the winter of life, when worn by constant toil,
If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring them to remembrance :
Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear standeth in his eye;
His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth beneath his burden;
His limbs are stiff with age, his sinews have lost their vigour,
And pain is stamped upon his face, while he wrestleth unequally with toil:
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