What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
agin agitation Beadle Black bottle boys Brill brought Bruges brute Burn called chair chak chearing Cocagne copy cried Crooked Lane Cynic d'ye think dear Charles Doctor door Dowdum dressing duckweed ELECTRICAL EEL ev'ry exclaimed eyes Fips says fish flat freedom friends Frisby Ghents gone gown Grampus head hear heard hole Hood imitate invalid jump lady last Nite leave letters lodger look Lord Durham's return Ma'am Madam maid Master meant meet Miss Filby Miss Hopkinson Moon morning mother nerves never niggers night nurse Obadiah groan Pickaninny pigs poor Quakers round the Square Sambo Scott servants sick snake soon sort stairs stick Stoke Pogis Straight street sure There's thing thought took town tree Tweedy verry vext walk Wandering Jew wanted watch whale wish Zounds
Page ix - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
Page vii - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page viii - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page ix - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came : nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page viii - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page viii - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 77 - WHY should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will ? Hands were made for honest labour, Not to plunder, or to steal. 'Tis a foolish self-deceiving By such tricks to hope for gain: All that's ever got by thieving Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain. Have not Eve and Adam taught us Their sad profit to compute, To what dismal state they brought us When they...
Page vii - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 172 - ... from a place so high, The year lies open to his eye; And all the moments open are To the exact discoverer. Yet more and more he smiles upon The happy revolution. Why should we then suspect or fear The influences of a year, So smiles upon us the first morn, And speaks us good so soon as born? Plague on't! the last was ill enough, This cannot but make better proof...