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The Every-day Book and Table Book: Or, Everlasting Calandar of Popular ...
No preview available - 1835
Abbot afterwards Alban Butler ancient appeared attended Bartholomew Fair beautiful birds bishop blessed body boys Butler called candle celebrated Cent ceremony Chronology church church of England colour court custom dance death Dedicated to St devil died dogs door England engraving Every-Day Book eyes fair feast feet festival fire FLORAL DIRECTORY flowers Golden Legend hand hath head heart holy honour horse hour John king labour lady Leatherhead leek Leigh Hunt light lion lived London look maid master May-pole ment Michael monks month morning never night observed Palm Sunday parish persons play poor pope prayed present queen rain Ribadeneira Rome Romish round saint says scene season Shrove Tuesday side sing Smithfield street Sunday sweet thee thing thou tion took town trees virgin walk wherein Wombwell young
Page 733 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Page 667 - Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Page 153 - but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.
Page 733 - The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds : All heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Page 1231 - Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labour of an hour or two^ at any time, as for the loss of the pigs.
Page 153 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep; At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV
Page 1235 - ... till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they called it) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string or spit came in a century or two later, I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, and seemingly the most obvious, arts...
Page 819 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war...
Page 667 - Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before...
Page 197 - He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all the order of the year. He marks the bounds which 'Winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury. In its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ Uninjured, with inimitable art, And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next.