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Page 109 - LIFE IN LONDON : or, the Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his Elegant Friend, Corinthian Tom.
Page 192 - Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. So didst thou travel on life's common way. In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Page 264 - Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Page 275 - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands ; He nothing common did, or mean, Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; Nor called the gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right, But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Page 257 - Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
Page 198 - CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward.
Page 270 - BRIGHT star ! would I were steadfast as thou art Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night. And watching, with eternal lids apart. Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Page 186 - I think it shame to covenant with any knowing reader that for some few years yet I may go on trust with him toward the payment of what I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amorist or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite...
Page 198 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine: But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
Page 168 - O'er each fair sleeping brow ; She had each folded flower in sight, Where are those dreamers now ? One, 'midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream is laid, The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade. The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.