..
... and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.
_As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.
Cruel as Death, and hungry as the Grave!
Burning for blood! bony, and gaunt, and grim!
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend;
And, pouring o'er the country, bear along,
Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy snows.
All is their prize.
_The Seasons: Winter_. J. THOMSON.
ANTHOLOGY.
Infinite riches in a little room.
_The Jew of Malta, Act i_. C. MARLOWE.
APPARITION.
Thin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts.
_Odyssey_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ POPE.
My people too were scared with eerie sounds,
A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls,
A noise of falling weights that never fell,
Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand,
Door-handles turned when none was at the door,
And bolted doors that opened of themselves;
And one betwixt the dark and light had seen
_Her_, bending by the cradle of her babe.
_The Ring_. A. TENNYSON.
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us!
_Cato, Act ii. Sc_. 1. J. ADDISON.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide.
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