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Page 208 - Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.
Page 211 - Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain. Ah Sin was his name; And I shall not deny, In regard to the same, What that name might imply; But his smile it was pensive and childlike, As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.
Page 29 - Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
Page 257 - You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head — Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youth," Father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.
Page 157 - Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again.
Page 208 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 27 - Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be...
Page 41 - Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! From...
Page 28 - Cause I see a woman kind; Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of Best; If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?