Barthomley in letters from a former rector to his eldest son

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Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1856 - Literary Collections - 370 pages

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Page 227 - And yet Time hath his revolutions ; there must be a period and an end to all temporal things— -finis rerum, an end of names and dignities, and whatsoever is terrene, and why not of De Vere ? For where is Bohun ? Where is Mowbray ? Where is Mortimer ? Nay, which is more and most of all, where is Plantagenet ? They are entombed in the urns and sepulchres of mortality.
Page 124 - YE field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet, wildings of Nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold.
Page 296 - Tarsus, bound for the isles Of Javan or Gadire, With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, Sails fill'd, and streamers waving, Courted by all the winds that hold them play...
Page 227 - De Vere, by so many ages, descents, and generations, as no other kingdom can produce such a peer in one and the self-same name and title.
Page 109 - Report the valuable ones of any other man. So the Elegy I renounce. I condole with you from my heart, on the loss of so worthy a man, and a Friend to us both. Now he is gone, I...
Page 292 - For when the breath of man goeth forth, he shall turn again to his earth, and then all his thoughts perish.
Page 263 - had been rejected, he would have sold all he had " the next morning, and never have seen England " more ; and he knew there were many other " honest men of the same resolution.
Page 269 - But first seek the kingdom of God, and all things shall be added unto you.
Page 296 - ON SIR CLIPSEBY CREW AND HIS LADY. WHAT'S that we see from far ? the spring of day Bloom'd from the east, or faire...
Page 60 - LET me not deem that I was made in vain, Or that my being was an accident Which Fate, in working its sublime intent, Not wished to be, to hinder would not deign. Each drop uncounted in a storm of rain Hath its own mission, and is duly sent To its own leaf or blade, not idly spent 'Mid myriad dimples on the shipless main.

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