A Hand-Book of Anglo-Saxon Root-Words

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Page 77 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 49 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
Page 60 - Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow : You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low.
Page 126 - The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Page 48 - Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorned adorned the most.
Page 88 - And God blessed them, saying, ' Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.' 23. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.
Page 92 - Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Page 109 - I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name — the year — the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast : A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away.
Page 47 - Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth. And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air...
Page 41 - Oh ! green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long bright hours of the summer day ; They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme, And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they knowLady, kind lady ! oh, let me go...

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