fe may be prolonged, yet death
Will seize the doctor too.
_Cymbeline, Act v. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

MELANCHOLY.

Melancholy
Is not, as you conceive, indisposition
Of body, but the mind's disease.
_The Lover's Melancholy, Act iii. Sc. 1_. J. FORD.

Go--you may call it madness, folly,
You shall not chase my gloom away.
There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not, if I could, be gay!
_To_ ---- S. ROGERS.

There is a mood
(I sing not to the vacant and the young),
There is a kindly mood of melancholy
That wings the soul and points her to the skies.
_Ruins of Rome_. J. DYER.

MEMORY.

And, when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left,
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images and precious thoughts
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
_The Excursion, Bk. VII_. W. WORDSWORTH.

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.
_Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

This memory brightens o'er the past,
As when the sun concealed
Behind some cloud that near us hangs,
Shines on a distant field.
_A Gleam of Sunshine_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense.
_Richard II., Act ii. Sc_. 3. SHAKESPEARE.

The sweet remembrance of the just
Shall flourish when he sleeps in dust.
_Psalm CXII_. TATE AND BRADY.

When he shall hear she died upon his words,
Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparelled in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she lived indeed.
_Much Ado about Nothing, Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Thou, thou alone, shall dwell forever.
And still shall recollection trace
In fancy's mirror, ever near,
Each smile, each tear, upon that face--
Though lost to sight, to memory dear.
_Though Lost to Sight, to Memory Dear_. T. MOORE.

Joy's recollection is no longer joy,
While sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.
_Doge of Venice_. LORD BYRON.

Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!
_The Grave_.