Curiosities of Literature, Volume 2

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G. Routledge & Company, 1858 - English literature
 

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Page 178 - I saw the world, and yet I was not seen; My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; And now I live, and now my life is done!
Page 313 - I may scape, I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape, That ever penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast...
Page 317 - With a heart of furious fancies, Whereof I am commander : With a burning spear, And a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander ; With a knight of ghosts and shadows, I summoned am to Tourney : Ten leagues beyond The wide world's end ; Methinks it is no journey...
Page 274 - Chaste women are often proud and froward, as presuming upon the merit of their chastity. It is one of the best bonds both of chastity and obedience in the wife, if she think her husband wise; which she will never do if she find him jealous. Wives are young men's mistresses ; companions for middle age; and old men's nurses.
Page 97 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep.
Page 178 - My prime of youth is but a frost of cares; My feast of joy is but a dish of pain; My crop of corn is but a field of tares; And all my good is but vain hope of gain. The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun; And now I live, and now my life is done.
Page 98 - Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race. Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace.
Page 98 - The imperial ensign, which, full high advanced, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind...
Page 100 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village- Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Page 111 - Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : To the which place a poor ^sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt...

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