The Monthly Review, Or, Literary Journal, Volume 48

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Page 313 - HARD. (Taking the cup.) I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable.
Page 15 - THE WISH. Well then ; I now do plainly see, This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ; The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy, And they, methinks, deserve my pity, Who for it can endure the stings, The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings Of this great hive, the city. Ah, yet, ere I descend to th...
Page 15 - tis the way too thither. How happy here should I, And one dear She live, and embracing die! She who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts...
Page 60 - For I would that all men were even as I myself. But every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that.
Page 15 - I descend to the grave May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too!
Page 313 - From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country. Warm work, now and then, at elections, I suppose? Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other, there's no business 'for us that sell ale'.
Page 313 - Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people ; but finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Heyder Ally or Ally Cawn, than about Ally Croaker.
Page 136 - From what pure wells Of milky light, what soft o'erflowing urn, Are all these lamps so fill'd ? these friendly lamps, For ever streaming o'er the azure deep To point our path, and light us to our home. How soft they slide along their lucid spheres ! And silent as the foot of Time...
Page 134 - It is to hope, tho' hope were loft, Tho' heaven and earth thy paffion croft ; Tho' me were bright as fainted queens above, And thou the leaft and meaneft fwain That folds his flock upon the plain, Yet if thou dar'ft not hope,. thou doft not love, It is to quench thy joy in tears', To nurfe ftrange doubts and groundlefs fears 5 If pangs of jealoufy thou haft not prov'd, "Tho...
Page 58 - No more by varying passions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky, Beneath thy soft indulgent eye, The modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And clear undaunted eye ; And Hope, who points to distant years, Fair opening through this vale of tears A vista to the sky.

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