fluence of bright essence increate!
1094
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. iii., Line 1.

But yet the light that led astray
Was light from heaven.
1095
BURNS: _The Vision._

The light that never was, on sea or land;
The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
1096
WORDSWORTH: _Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm,_ St. 4.

Light, light, and light! to break and melt in sunder
All clouds and chains that in one bondage bind
Eyes, hands, and spirits, forged by fear and wonder
And sleek fierce fraud with hidden knife behind.
1097
SWINBURNE: _Eve of Revolution,_ St. 10.

=Lightning.=

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night.
1098
SHAKS.: _Mid. N. Dream,_ Act i., Sc. 1.

=Lilies.=

Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.
1099
SHAKS.: _Henry VIII,_ Act iii., Sc. 1.

In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
1100
MILTON: _Comus,_ Line 859.

=Lincoln, Abraham.=

This man, whose homely face you look upon,
Was one of Nature's masterful, great men;
Born with strong arms, that unfought battles won
Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen.
Chosen for large designs, he had the art
Of winning with his humor, and he went
Straight to his mark, which was the human heart;
Wise, too, for what he could not break he bent.
Upon his back a more than Atlas-load,--
The burden of the Commonwealth,--was laid;
He stooped, and rose up to it, though the road
Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed.
Hold, warriors, councillors, kings! All now give place
To this dear benefactor of the Race.
1101
R.H. STODDARD: _Abraham Lincoln._

=Line.=

Marlowe's mighty line.
1102
BEN JONSON: _To the Memory of Shakespeare._

Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
1103
SCOTT: _Marmion, Introduction to Canto i._

=Lion.=

The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpowered.
1104
SHAKS.: _Richard II.,_ Act v., Sc. 1.

=Lips.=

Her lips are roses over-washed with dew,
Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower;
No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their power,
But by her breath her beauties do renew.
1105
ROBERT GREENE: _From Menaphon. Menaphon's Ecl._

=Little.=

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
1106
BURNS: _Contented wi' Little._

Man wants but li