Christmas Blossoms, and New Year's Wreath

E.H. Butler, 1854
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Side 212 - The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Side 212 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
Side 185 - It is finely conceived, for thus the " mortal shall put on immortality, and death be swallowed up in victory...
Side 248 - Tinksor, the present residence of the Sultan of Java. It is surrounded on all sides by a circle of high hills and mountains; and the country round it, to the distance of ten or twelve miles from the tree, is entirely barren. Not a tree, nor a shrub, nor even the least plant or grass is to be seen.
Side 249 - ... upon their dangerous expedition. Among other particulars, they are always told to attend to the direction of the winds ; as they are to go towards the tree before the wind, so that the effluvia from the tree is always blown from them.
Side 124 - We've ploughed our land, we've sown our seed, We've made all neat and gay ; So take a bit, and leave a bit, Away birds, away ! I looked over the hedge, and saw a little rustic lad apparently about seven years old, in his blue carter-frock, with a little bag hanging by his side, and his clapper in his hand. From ridge to ridge of a heavy ploughed field, and up and down its long furrows, he went wading in the deep soil, with a slow pace, singing his song with a melancholy voice, and sounding his clapper.
Side 108 - DUKE'S PALACE. [Enter DUKE, CURIO, LORDS; MUSICIANS attending.] DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.— That strain again;— it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.— Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Side 167 - Why should we a minute despise, Because it so quickly is o'er ? We know that it rapidly flies, And therefore should prize it the more. Another, indeed, may appear in its stead, But that precious moment for ever is fled.
Side 250 - During that time, the ecclesiastic prepares them for their future fate by prayers and admonitions. When the hour of their departure arrives, the priest puts...
Side 251 - ... all I could learn from him, concerning the tree itself, was, that it stood on the border of a rivulet, as described by the old priest ; that it was of a middling size ; that five or six young trees of the same kind stood close by it ; but that no other shrub or plant could be seen near it ; and that the ground was of a brownish sand, full of stones, almost impracticable for travelling, and covered with dead bodies.

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