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Page 38 - Vociferated logic kills me quite, A noisy man is always in the right, I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, And, when I hope his blunders are all out, Reply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt ! Dubius is such a scrupulous good man — Yes — you may catch him tripping, if you can.
Page 282 - 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, Well live and love so true ; The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 217 - Whether perfect happiness would be procured by perfect goodness," said Nekayah, "this world will never afford an opportunity of deciding. But this at least may be maintained, that we do not always find visible happiness in proportion to visible virtue. All natural and almost all political evils are incident alike to the bad and good. They are confounded in the misery of a famine and not much distinguished in the fury of a faction; they sink together in a tempest and are driven together from their...
Page 77 - Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.
Page 283 - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Page 341 - There was an old woman, and what do you think? She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; Victuals and drink were the whole of her diet, And yet this old woman would never be quiet.
Page 330 - Active, and strong, and feelingly alive To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust From things deform'd, or disarranged, or gross In species'! This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow; But God alone when first his active hand Imprints the secret bias of the soul He, mighty parent!
Page 235 - Retirement then might hourly look Upon a soothing scene, Age steal to his allotted nook Contented and serene ; With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, In frosty moonlight glistening ; Or mountain rivers, where they creep Along a channel smooth and deep, To their own far-off murmurs listening.
Page 297 - He that has much to do will do something wrong, and of that wrong must suffer the consequences ; and, if it were possible that he should always act rightly, yet when such numbers are to judge of his conduct, the bad will censure and obstruct him by malevolence, and the good sometimes by mistake.