THE PROFFESOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE WITH THE STORY OF IRIS

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Seite 356 - Though long the weary way we tread, And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shun, no darkness dread, Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near...
Seite 308 - Audacious ; but, that seat soon failing, meets A vast vacuity : all unawares, Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb down he drops Ten thousand fathom deep...
Seite 338 - Chartier has lasted four hundred years, and put it into the head of many an ill-favored poet, whether Victoria, or Eugenie, would do as much by him, if she happened to pass him when he was asleep. And have we ever forgotten that the fresh cheek of the young John Milton tingled under the lips of some high-born Italian beauty, who, I believe, did not think to leave her card by the side of the slumbering youth, but has bequeathed the memory of her pretty deed to all coming time ? The sound of a kiss...
Seite 263 - So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind: And passively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate!
Seite 402 - Sun of our life, thy quickening ray Sheds on our path the glow of day ; Star of our hope, thy softened light Cheers the long watches of the night.
Seite 5 - There is then creative reading as well as creative writing. When the mind is braced by labor and invention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as broad as the world.
Seite 60 - THE BOYS. HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? If there has, take him out, without making a noise ! Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite ! Old Time is a liar ! We're twenty to-night ! We're twenty ! We're twenty ! Who says we are more ? He's tipsy, — young jackanapes ! — show him the door ! — " Gray temples at twenty ? " — Yes ! white, if we please ; Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!
Seite 90 - We must have a weak spot or two in a character before we can love it much. People that do not laugh or cry, or take more of anything than is good for them, or use anything but dictionary words, are admirable subjects for biographies. But we don't always care most for those flat-pattern flowers that press best in the herbarium.
Seite 295 - Yellow japanned buttercups and stardisked dandelions, — just as we see them lying in the grass, like sparks that have leaped from the kindling sun of summer ; the profuse daisy-like flower which whitens the fields, to the great disgust of liberal shepherds, yet seems fair to loving eyes, with its button-like mound of gold set round with milk-white rays; the tall-stemmed...
Seite 128 - The broken miDstone at the sill, — Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie, — No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, — And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone.

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