Boston Common: Tale of Our Owm Times

J. French, 1858 - 556 Seiten
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Seite 389 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate.
Seite 443 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Seite 514 - Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him ? till seven times ? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee Until seven times ; but Until seventy times seven.
Seite 366 - O gentlemen, the time of life is short ! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
Seite 440 - Since every man who lives, is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. Even kings but play; and when their part is done, Some other, worse or better, mount the throne.
Seite 240 - Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear...
Seite 430 - But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose : Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green ; Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Seite 466 - Like the moon, We borrow all the brightness which we boast, Dark in ourselves, and useless. If that hand, That rules the fate of battles, strike for us, Crown us with fame, and gild our clay with honour, 'Twere most ungrateful to disown the benefit} And arrogate a praise which is not ours. Ax. With such unshaken temper of the soul To bear the swelling tide of prosperous fortune, Is to deserve that fortune : in adversity The mind grows tough by buffeting the tempest, Which, in success dissolving,...
Seite 10 - O woman ! in our hours of ease. Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ; — When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou !
Seite 188 - Oh ! had we some bright little isle of our own In a blue summer ocean far off and alone, 'Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers ; And the bee banquets on through a whole year.

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