118
QUOTATIONS AND NOTES.
Juliet, too, in anxiously waiting for the silent arrival of her lover, exclaims,
Oh! so light of foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the Gossamer
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall—
TO THE GODDESS OF BOTANY.
"Rightly to spell," as Milton wishes, in Il Penseroso, "Of every herb that sips the dew,"
and whose wearied eyes and languid spirits find relief and repose amid the shades of vegetable nature.—
seems to be a resource for the sick at heart—for those who, from sorrow or disgust, may without affectation say
"Society is nothing to one not sociable!"
