Literary hours; or, Sketches, critical, narrative, and poetical, Volume 1

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T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1804 - English literature
 

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Page 375 - Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases.
Page 337 - ... which broke their waves, and turned them into foam : and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs, some leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others sported themselves in the cheerful sun ; and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought, as the poet has happily expressed it, " I was for that time lifted above earth, And possessed joys not promised...
Page 195 - Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course; they on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Page 411 - A pillar of state : deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care : And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin...
Page 338 - As I left this place, and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me : 'twas a handsome milkmaid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be...
Page 331 - Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
Page 33 - Nor wife, nor children more shall he behold, Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd Corse, 320 Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast.
Page 325 - Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, To meditate my rural minstrelsy, Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close The wonted roar was up amidst the woods...
Page 398 - And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.
Page 33 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

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