Variety, Or, Selections and Essays: Consisting of Anecdotes, Curious Facts, Interesting Narratives, with Occasional Reflections

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Darton and Harvey, 1809 - Anecdotes - 207 pages
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Page 154 - Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile) Could those few pleasant hours again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
Page 154 - My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise — The son of parents passed into the skies!
Page 152 - I heard the bell toll'd' on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? — It was.
Page 152 - But gladly, as the precept were her own: And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss: Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile! it...
Page 154 - I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might — But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Page 151 - With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, " Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away...
Page 153 - Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit, or...
Page 153 - I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Page 38 - Lo! where this silent marble weeps, A Friend, a Wife, a Mother sleeps: A Heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful Virtues lov'd to dwell. Affection warm, and Faith sincere, And soft Humanity were there. In agony, in death resign'd, She felt the Wound she left behind.
Page 152 - Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern.

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