t i., Sc. 2.

There were his young barbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother: he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday!
910
BYRON: _Ch. Harold,_ Canto iv., St. 141.

=Holiness.=

Whoso lives the holiest life
Is fittest far to die.
911
MARGARET J. PRESTON: _Ready._

=Homage.=

When I am dead, no pageant train
Shall waste their sorrows at my bier,
Nor worthless pomp of homage vain
Stain it with hypocritic tear.
912
EDWARD EVERETT: _Alaric the Visigoth_

=Home.=

Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polish'd friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
913
THOMSON: _Seasons, Autumn,_ Line 65.

This fond attachment to the well-known place
Whence first we started into life's long race,
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway,
We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
914
COWPER: _Tirocinium,_ Line 314.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
915
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON: _Requiem._

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home.
916
J. HOWARD PAYNE: _Home, Sweet Home._

Type of the wise who soar but never roam,
True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
917
WORDSWORTH: _To a Skylark._

=Homer.=

Read Homer once, and you can read no more,
For all books else appear so mean, so poor;
Verse may seem prose; but still persist to read,
And Homer will be all the books you need.
918
SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE: _Essay on Poetry_

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne,
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold.
919
KEATS: _On first looking into Chapman's Homer._

Seven cities warred for Homer being dead;
Who living had no roofe to shrowd his head.
920
THOMAS HEYWOOD: _Hierarchie of the Blessed Angells._

=Honesty.=

An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.
921
SHAKS.: _Othello,_ Act v., Sc. 2.

A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
922
POPE: _Essay on Man,_ Epis. iv., Line 247.

=Honor.=

Too much honor:
O, 'tis a burthen, ... 'tis a burthen,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
923
SHAKS.: _Henry VIII.,_ Act iii.