Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Mountain
On every mountain-height is rest.
Goethe.
Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
Pope.
Men meet; mountains, never.
Lewis Cass.
Round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Goldsmith.
See the mountains kiss high heavens, and the waves clasp one another.
Shelley.
Whoever has not ascended mountains knows little of the beauties of Nature.
William Howitt.
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky.
Campbell.
Without mountains the air could not be purified, nor the flowing of the rivers sustained.
Ruskin.
A proud heart and a lofty mountain are never fruitful.
George Eliot.
’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Campbell.
Mountains have a grand, stupid, lovable tranquillity.
O. W. Holmes.
The hills, rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
Bryant.
The ragged cliff has thousand faces in a thousand hours.
Emerson.
Mountains interposedMake enemies of nations, who had elseLike kindred drops been mingled into one.
Cowper.
Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;They crown’d him long agoOn a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,With a diadem of snow.
Byron.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,But winter lingering chills the lap of May;No zephyr fondly sues the mountain’s breast,But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Goldsmith.
Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!In the soft light of these serenest skies;From the broad highland region, black with pines,Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves beholdIn rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
William Cullen Bryant.
I know a mount, the gracious Sun perceivesFirst when he visits, last, too, when he leavesThe world; and, vainly favored, it repaysThe day-long glory of his steadfast gazeBy no change of its large calm front of snow.
Robert Browning.
Mountains never shake hands. Their roots may touch; they may keep together some way up; but at length they part company, and rise into individual, insulated peaks. So is it with great men.
J. C. and A. W. Hare.
He who first met the Highland’s swelling blue,Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue;Hail in each crag a friend’s familiar face,And clasp the mountain in his mind’s embrace.
Byron.
Above me are the Alps,The palaces of Nature, whose vast wallsHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,And thron’d Eternity in icy hallsOf cold sublimity, where forms and fallsThe avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!All that expands the spirit, yet appals,Gather round these summits, as to showHow Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.
Byron.
