ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky.
618
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES: _Old Ironside._

=Enthusiasm.=

Rash enthusiasm, in good society
Were nothing but a moral inebriety.
619
BYRON: _Don Juan,_ Canto xiii., Line 35.

=Envy.=

Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise,
For envy is a kind of praise.
620
GAY: _Fables,_ Pt. i., Fable 44.

Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
But, like a shadow, proves the substance true.
621
POPE: _E. on Criticism,_ Pt. ii., Line 266.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
622
THOMSON: _Seasons, Spring,_ Line 284.

=Epitaphs.=

Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve:
Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher?
623
PRIOR: _Ep. Extempore._

Here rests his head, upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
624
GRAY: _Elegy, Epitaph._

=Equality.=

The trickling rain doth fall
Upon us one and all;
The south wind kisses
The saucy milkmaid's cheek,
The nun's demure and meek,
Nor any misses.
625
E.C. STEDMAN: _A Madrigal,_ St. 3.

=Error.=

Shall Error in the round of time
Still father Truth?
626
TENNYSON: _Love and Duty._

But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
627
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT: _The Battle-Field._

=Eternity.=

Beyond is all abyss,
Eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
628
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. xii., Line 555.

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
629
ADDISON: _Cato,_ Act v., Sc. 1.

=Europe.=

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
630
TENNYSON: _Locksley Hall,_ Line 184.

=Eve.=

Adam the goodliest man of men since born
His sons, the fairest of her daughters, Eve.
631
MILTON: _Par. Lost.,_ Bk. iv., Line 323.

=Evening.=

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
632
LONGFELLOW: _The Day is Done._

The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep;
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its silent dream.
633