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Page 453 - Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
Page 355 - Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation. 3 ORDER Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time. 4 RESOLUTION Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. 5 FRUGALITY Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; ie, waste nothing.
Page 53 - Though, as Ben Jonson says of him, that he had but little Latin and less Greek, he understood Latin pretty well, for he had been in his younger years a schoolmaster in the country."!
Page 315 - Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Page 450 - Aside for ever: it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound...
Page 531 - And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.
Page 225 - Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, He had the passion and the power to roam ; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Were unto him companionship; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.
Page 153 - ... such a scene of natural romance and beauty as had never before greeted my eyes. To the left lay the valley, down which the Forth wandered on its easterly course, surrounding the beautiful detached hill, with all its garland of woods. On the right, amid a profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of a broad mountain lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath of the morning breeze, each glittering in its course under the influence of the sun-beams.
Page 557 - Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, And spirits so mean in the great and high-born ; To think what a long line of titles may follow The relics of him who died — friendless and lorn ! How proud they can press to the funeral array Of one whom they shunned in his sickness and sorrow : — How bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow...
Page 350 - I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our...