rth directions too much at large, except they be
bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire
them, and wise men use them: for they teach not their own use, but that
is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not
to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted; not to
find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be
tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested:
that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but
not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and
attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of
them by others; but that should be only in the less important arguments,
and the meaner sorts of books; else distilled books are like common
distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a
ready man; and writing an exact man. And, therefore, if a man write
little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had
need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much
cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

BACON.

* * * * *

THE SHORES OF GREECE.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled;
The first dark day of nothingness.
The last of danger and distress:
Before Decay's effacing fingers,
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
And mark'd the mild, angelic air,
The rapture of repose that's there;
The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek.

And, but for that sad shrouded eye,
That fires not--wins not--weeps not--now;
And, but for that chill, changeless brow,
Whose touch thrills with mortality,
And curdles to the gazer's heart,
As if to him it could impart
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:
Yes, but for these, and these alone
Some moments--ay, one treacherous hour--
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,
The first, last look by death reveal'd.

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet--so deadly fair--
We start, for soul is wanting there:
Hers is the loveliness in death
That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty, with that fearful bloom,