=Heroes.=

Heroes are much the same, the point’s agreed, From Macedonia’s madman to the Swede. 902 POPE:  Essay on Man, Epis. iv., Line 219.

Whoe’er excels in what we prize,
Appears a hero in our eyes.
903
SWIFT:  Cadenus and Vanessa, Line 729.

To the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free
Death’s voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be!
904
HALLECK:  Marco Bozzaris.

Heroes as great have died, and yet shall fall. 905 POPE:  Iliad, Bk. xv., Line 157.

=Hills.=

The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
906
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT:  Thanatopsis.

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung his tassels forth. 907 HEMANS:  The Voice of Spring.

=History.=

History, with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.
908
BYRON:  Ch.  Harold, Canto iv.; St. 108.

=Holiday.=

If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
909
SHAKS.:  1 Henry IV., Act 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