The book of the chronicles; or, Winter evening tales of Westmorland, Volume 1

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author, 1842 - 254 pages

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Page 64 - The sober herd that low'd to meet their young ; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice, that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Page 185 - Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise : Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Women and fools must like him, or he dies; Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, The club must hail him master of the joke.
Page 213 - Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might, the majesty of Loveliness?
Page 131 - Thy words, Creator, bounteous and benign, Giver of all things fair! but fairest this Of all thy gifts ! nor enviest. I now see Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself...
Page 12 - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
Page xi - Oh ! I would walk A weary journey, to the furthest verge Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand, Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art, Preserves a lowly mind ; and to his God, Feeling the sense of his own littleness, Is as a child in meek simplicity...
Page 51 - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 1 - The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man; And wiser he whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Page 37 - Thy half-writ scrolls all eaten by the moth : Arise, and sing that generous imp of fame, Who with the sons of softness nobly wroth, To sweep away this human lumber came, Or in a chosen few to rouse the slumbering flame.
Page 26 - Whate'er she in th' ethereal round contains, Whate'er she hides beneath her verdant floor, The vegetable and the mineral reigns ; Or else he...

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