Revue des cours et conférences

Boivin., 1901

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Side 421 - Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone.
Side 182 - The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud — and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness.
Side 464 - Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars...
Side 465 - The question with me is, not whether you have a right to render your people miserable, but whether it is not your interest to make them 1195 happy. It is not what a lawyer tells me I may do, but what humanity, reason, and justice tell me I ought to do.
Side 525 - Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares And frantic Passions hear thy soft control...
Side 279 - ... the body of it. Education, after the same manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are never able to make their appearance.
Side 525 - Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and light'nings of his eye.
Side 232 - an endless significance lies in Work;" a man perfects himself by working. Foul jungles are cleared away, fair seedfields rise instead, and stately cities ; and withal the man himself first ceases to be a jungle and foul unwholesome desert thereby. Consider, how, even in the meanest sorts of...
Side 595 - Lors vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle, Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant, Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s'aille réveillant, Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle. Je serai sous la terre, et, fantôme sans os, Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos; Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie, Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.
Side 687 - Moi je suis ce fondeur : de mes écrits en foule Je prépare longtemps et la forme et le moule ; Puis sur tous à la fois je fais couler l'airain : Rien n'est fait aujourd'hui, tout sera fait demain.

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