Outre-mer: a pilgrimage beyond the sea. To which are added, the latest poems of the author (Google eBook)

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1851
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Page 266 - Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were with you, the moral of his strain.
Page 240 - Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod, Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy. A little, round, fat, oily man of God, Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry : He had a roguish twinkle in his eye, And shone all glittering with ungodly dew, If a tight damsel chaunc'd to trippen by ; Which when observ'd, he shrunk into his mew, And straight would recollect his piety anew.
Page 271 - We have not wings, we cannot soar ; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.
Page 162 - FAIR stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.
Page 271 - SAINT AUGUSTINE ! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame...
Page 59 - There is no antidote against the opium of time, which temporally considereth all things : our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors.
Page 163 - No life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer is swallowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us.
Page 43 - Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
Page 187 - Thy blest approach, and oh, to Heaven how lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried, " Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee ! " And, oh ! how often to that voice of sorrow, " To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came, I answered still, "To-morrow.
Page 186 - My panting side was charged when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.^ There was I found by one who had himself Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore And in his hands and feet the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts He drew them forth, and healed and bade me live.

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