Forty years in the world; or, Sketches and tales of a soldier's life, by the author of Fifteen years in India

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1825
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Page 135 - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
Page 215 - O friendly to the best pursuits of man, Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace...
Page 217 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
Page 167 - It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established: 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state: it cannot be.
Page 137 - When Heaven would kindly set us free, And earth's enchantment end ; It takes the most effectual means, And robs us of a friend.
Page 296 - Such is the powre of that sweet passion, That it all sordid basenesse doth expell, And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell In his high thought, that would it selfe excell, Which he beholding still with constant sight, Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.
Page 46 - Grace was in all her steps. Heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.
Page 127 - WE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast. Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest ; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west...
Page 95 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Page 38 - There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die...

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