Memoirs of a Working Man

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C. Knight & Company, 1845 - Biography & Autobiography - 234 pages

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Page 146 - For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise; Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world...
Page 175 - Island of bliss! amid the subject seas, That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, At once the wonder, terror, and delight, Of distant nations; whose remotest shores Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ; Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.
Page 146 - Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward angel now, and melt with ruth. And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Page 233 - 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 180 - Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays!
Page 50 - That runs around the hill; the rampart once Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, When disunited Britain ever bled...
Page 82 - It will be sufficient to its perfection, if it has in it all the beauties of the highest kind of poetry ; and as for those who allege it is not an heroic poem, they advance no more to the diminution of it than if they should say Adam is not Aeneas, nor Eve Helen. I shall therefore examine it by the rules of epic poetry, and see whether it falls short of the Iliad or Aeneid, in the beauties which are essential to that kind of writing.
Page 227 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
Page 126 - THROW yourself on the world without any rational plan of support, beyond what the chance employ of booksellers would afford you ! ! ! Throw yourself rather, my dear sir, from the steep Tarpeian rock, slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. If you had but five consolatory minutes between the desk and the bed, make much. of them, and live a century in them, rather than turn slave to the booksellers.
Page 119 - Yet lov'd in secret all forbidden things. And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings : The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks ; A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent stings : Whilst Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.

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