The British novelists: with an essay, and prefaces, biographical and critical, Volume 23 (Google eBook)

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F. C. and J. Rivington, 1820 - English literature
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Page 211 - Alas ! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay ; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they ; "And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep ; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep...
Page 209 - TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale, With hospitable ray. " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds immeasurably spread Seem lengthening as I go." " Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
Page 175 - I WAS ever of opinion that the honest man who married and brought up a large family did more service than he who continued single and only talked of population.
Page 233 - You need be under no uneasiness," cried I, "about selling the rims; for they are not worth sixpence, for I perceive they are only copper varnished over.
Page 233 - I have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is,' pulling out a bundle from his breast: 'here they are: a gross of green spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen cases.
Page 210 - No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them. "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Page 191 - THE place of our retreat was in a little neighbourhood consisting of farmers, who tilled their own grounds, and were equal strangers to opulence and poverty.
Page 213 - Twas Edwin's self that prest ! " Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. " Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign : And shall we never, never part, My life, my all that's mine ? " No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 233 - no more silver than your saucepan." "And so," returned she, "we have parted with the colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases? A murrain take such trumpery ! The blockhead has been imposed upon, and should have known his company better." "There, my dear," cried I, "you are wrong; he should not have known them at all.
Page 314 - When lovely woman stoops to folly. And finds, too late, that men betray. What charm can soothe 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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