Irving's Oliver Goldsmith

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Longmans, Green, 1902 - 296 pages
 

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Page 5 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay — There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school.
Page 173 - But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Page 135 - No man could have paid a handsomer compliment ; and it was fit for a King to pay. It was decisive." When asked by another friend, at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, whether he made any reply to this high compliment, he answered, "No, Sir. When the King had said it, it was to be so. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my Sovereign.
Page 4 - His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain.
Page 262 - Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, .He has not left a wiser or better behind : His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still bom to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
Page 203 - Mr. Mickle, the translator of The Lusiad, and I went to visit him at this place a few days afterwards. He was not at home ; but having a curiosity to see his apartment, we went in and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil.
Page 107 - The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Page 20 - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee : Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Page 237 - To learning and to loyalty were bred : For colleges on bounteous kings depend, And never rebel was to arts a friend.
Page 121 - She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me. When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.

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