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Rambles in Devonshire, with tales and poetry

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Page 77 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 34 - Blessed be the Lord God of our fathers, which hath put such a thing as this in the king's heart, to beautify the house of the Lord which is in Jerusalem : and hath extended mercy unto me before the king, and his counsellors, and before all the king's mighty princes.
Page 78 - MORE discontents I never had Since I was born than here, Where I have been, and still am sad, In this dull Devonshire ; Yet, justly too, I must confess I ne'er invented such Ennobled numbers for the press, Than where I loathed so much.
Page 40 - Las Obras y Relaciones de Ant. Perez, 8vo, por Juan de la Planche, 1631, p. 143. The privilege of union which I have mentioned in the preceding note and alluded to in the text is indeed one of the most singular which could take place in a regular...
Page 36 - THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR.
Page 9 - Laughs the blue glance of the bounding Rhone. Proudly the yellow-haired Tiber may flow, Singing his dirge to the dead below. Which of the...
Page 185 - Like Italy, ^Devonshire possesses " the fatal gift of beauty ; " and the heart has no language in which to embody its devotion. Beyond Torquay the windings of the coast are full of charms. Sometimes the sea hides itself in little coves, as at "Watcombe and Babbicombe. Sometimes there is a memory of Genoa, in marble terraces, like those of Bishopstowe. And Teignmouth, and Dawlish, and Powderham, and the Cathedral towers in the valley of the...
Page 151 - Flashed from angels' pinions nigh, Caught from angels' shells, When the song of lauds on high Ever, ever, swells ! Where the sense of beauty speaks With a conscious sigh ; Where the gift of beauty seeks For a kindred eye ; There thou smilest from above, From a source divine, Breathing of a fount of love, Holier, far, than thine. Thou art where the sunbeam floats, Thou art in the shade, Whispering in the wild birds' notes, Wandering in the glade; Angel of the Beautiful, Whither dost thou come?
Page 108 - Hazed out his impress, leaving him no sign, Save men's opinions, and his living blood, To show the world he is a Gentleman.
Page 148 - Near the Church is the Guildhall. Well would it be for the place if it were at the bottom of Torbay, could it only convey with it the feelings of gall and bitterness, engendered by the genius of the spot. Probably the strife of politics is sterner, and more incessant, in Totnes, than in any other town.

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