The British Essayists;: Lounger

J. Johnson, J. Nichols and son, R. Baldwin, F. and C. Rivington, W. Otridge and son, W.J. and J. Richardson, A. Strahan, R. Faulder, ... [and 40 others], 1808

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Seite 304 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Seite 305 - Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, That fate is thine, — no distant date: Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom!
Seite 303 - When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along, Those accents grateful to thy tongue, Th' adored Name, I taught thee how to pour in song, To soothe thy flame. "I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, By passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray Was light from Heaven.
Seite 306 - Shakespeare discerns the characters of men, with which he catches the many changing hues of life, forms a sort of problem in the science of mind, of which it is easier to see the truth than to assign the cause. Though I am very far from meaning to compare our rustic bard to Shakespeare, yet whoever will read his lighter and more humorous poems, his Dialogue of the Dogs, his Dedication to GH , Esq., his Epistles to a Young Friend, and to W.
Seite 305 - O clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid. Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betray'd. And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Seite 233 - Her old butler, who rose betimes, would never suffer any body to mount his horse fasting. The parson of the parish was her guest every Sunday, and said prayers in the evening. To say truth, he was no great genius, nor much a scholar. I believe my godmother knew rather more of divinity than he did; but she received from 'him information of another sort; he told her who were the poor, the sick, the dying of the parish, and she had some assistance, some comfort for them all. I could draw the old lady...
Seite 324 - ... the legal period for amusement is arrived. It may fairly be questioned, -whether the most innocent of those amusements, is either so honourable or so safe as the avocation of learning or of science.
Seite 65 - I felt the disgrace of owing so much to him I had injured, and remonstrated against exposing him to such imminent danger of its being known that he had favoured my escape, which from the temper of his commander, I knew would be instant death, Albert, in anangony of fear and distress, besought me to think only of my own safety. — ' Save us both,' said he, ' for if you die, I cannot live.
Seite 232 - This old butler (I call him by his title of honour, though in truth he had many subordinate offices) had originally enlisted with her husband, who went into the army a youth, though he afterwards married and became a country gentleman, had been his servant abroad, and attended him during his last illness at home. His best hat, which he wore a-Sundays, with a scarlet waistcoat of his master's, had still a cockade in it.
Seite 234 - I could draw the old lady at this moment ! — dressed in gray, with a clean white hood nicely plaited (for she was somewhat finical about the neatness of her person) , sitting in her straight-backed elbow-chair, which stood in a large window scooped out of the thickness of the ancient wall. The middle panes of the window were of painted glass, the story of Joseph and his brethren. On the outside waved a honeysuckle-tree, which often threw its shade across her book or her work ; but she would not...

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