_Paradise Lost, Bk. V_. MILTON.
At last, the golden orientall gate
Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre,
And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate.
Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre;
And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre.
_Faerie Queene, Bk. I. Canto V_. E. SPENSER.
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day
Rejoicing in the east.
_The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.
'Tis always morning somewhere in the world,
And Eos rises, circling constantly
The varied regions of mankind. No pause
Of renovation and of freshening rays
She knows.
_Orion, Bk. III. Canto III_. R.H. HORNE.
MOTHER.
The only love which, on this teeming earth,
Asks no return for passion's wayward birth.
_The Dream_. HON. MRS. NORTON.
A mother's love,--how sweet the name!
What is a mother's love?--
A noble, pure and tender flame.
Enkindled from above.
To bless a heart of earthly mould;
The warmest love that can grow cold;--
This is a mother's love.
_A Mother's Love_. J. MONTGOMERY.
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
_King Richard III., Act iv. Sc_.1. SHAKESPEARE.
The poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
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