Rural sketches and poems, chiefly relating to Cleveland

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W. Tait--Simpkin And Marshall, 1845 - 80 sider
 

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Side 103 - The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave, IX 0 happy love! where love like this is found; O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare, "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale Beneath...
Side 53 - ... hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us. Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, " Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did...
Side 161 - And Boaz said unto her, At mealtime come thou hither, and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar. And she sat beside the reapers: and he reached her parched corn, and she did eat, and was sufficed, and left.
Side 183 - I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Side 185 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Side 67 - The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp— and what is writ, is writ; Would it were worthier; but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions flit Less palpably before me — and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.
Side 73 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve ; And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind ! we are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

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