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Seite 181 - Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances.
Seite 92 - With covered face and upward earnest eye. Hail, SABBATH ! thee I hail, the poor man's day : The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe The morning air, pure from the city's smoke ; While, wandering slowly up the river side, He meditates on HIM, whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around its roots...
Seite 161 - But all her loveliness is not yet flown : She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face Retains that smile ; as when a waveless lake, In which the wintry stars all bright appear, Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast.
Seite 91 - That yester-morn bloomed waving in the breeze. Sounds the most faint attract the ear, — the hum Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Seite 269 - The restless thought, and wayward will, And discontent attend him still, Nor quit him while he lives ; At sea, care follows in the wind, At land, it mounts the pad behind, Or with the post-boy drives. He, who would happy live to-day, Must laugh the present ills away, Nor think of woes to come, For come they will, or soon or late, Since mix'd at best, is man's estate, By heaven's eternal doom.
Seite 112 - Dr. Johnson applied himself to the Dutch language but a few years before his death. Ludovico Monaldeseo, at the great age of one hundred and fifteen, wrote the memoirs of his own times.
Seite 152 - Frenchman did not understand the language of honor or of nature: deaf to their voice, and dead to sensibility, he violently and repeatedly pushed the muzzle of his gun against Putnam's ribs, and finally gave him a cruel blow on the jaw with the butt of his piece. After this dastardly deed, he left him.
Seite 56 - SINCE in this dreary vale of tears No certainty but death appears, Why should we waste our vernal years In hoarding useless treasure ? No — let the young and ardent mind Become the friend of human kind, And in the generous service find A source of purer pleasure * Better to live despis'd and poor, Than Guilt's eternal stings endure ; The future smile of God shall cure The wound of earthly woes. Vain world ! did we but rightly feel What ills thy treacherous charms conceal, How would we long from...
Seite 158 - It is not only in the sacred fane That homage should be paid to the Most High; There is a temple, one not made with hands,— The vaulted firmament: far in the woods, Almost beyond the sound of...
Seite 92 - These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach The house of God ; these, spite of all their ills, A glow of gladness feel ; with silent praise They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, Until the man of God, worthy the name, Arise and read the anointed shepherd's lays.