Varieties in Prose, Volume 1

Longmans, Green and Company, 1893

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Pagina 37 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Pagina 105 - This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.
Pagina 183 - I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I ? Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them : let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
Pagina 109 - You owe this strange intelligence, or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting. Speak, I charge you. WITCHES vanish. BAN. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them.
Pagina 74 - I never was more satisfied than in the behaviour of the University of Oxford to me. I had all the civilities I could wish for, and so many substantial favours, that I am ashamed to have been more obliged in a few weeks to strangers, than ever I was in seven years to Dublin college. I am not to take orders -%• till the king gives me a prebend...
Pagina 175 - I can now behold the Court with an impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made up of fraud and titles and flattery, and many other such empty, imaginary, painted pleasures ; pleasures that are so empty as not to satisfy when they are enjoyed.
Pagina 184 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridall of the earth and skie, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet...
Pagina 183 - Love took my hand and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?" "Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve." "And know you not." says Love, "Who bore the blame?
Pagina 126 - To seek and bring rough pepper home ; Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove To bring from thence the scorched clove ; Nor, with the loss of thy lov'd rest, Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
Pagina 62 - But when, in about a month after my arrival in London, I went to Farnham, the place of my birth, what was my surprise ! Everything was become so pitifully small ! I had to cross, in my postchaise, the long and dreary heath of Bagshot. Then, at the end of it, to mount a hill, called Hungry Hill ; and from that hill I knew that I should look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of Farnham. My heart fluttered with...

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