Sir Henry Taylor. 1800-18—.
The world knows nothing of its greatest men.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.
An unreflected light did never yet
Dazzle the vision feminine.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.
He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend.
Eternity mourns that. 'T is an ill cure
For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them.
Where sorrow 's held intrusive and turned out,
There wisdom will not enter, nor true power,
Nor aught that dignifies humanity.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.
We figure to ourselves
The thing we like; and then we build it up,
As chance will have it, on the rock or sand,—
For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world,
And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.
Such souls,
Whose sudden visitations daze the world,
Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind
A voice that in the distance far away
Wakens the slumbering ages.
Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 7.
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