Tales of fancy, Volume 1

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Page 55 - How beautiful is night ! A dewy freshness fills the silent air, No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths.
Page 309 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 275 - But Och ! mankind are unco weak, An' little to be trusted ; If self the wavering balance shake, It's rarely right adjusted ! Yet they wha fa...
Page 40 - To soothe awhile the tortured bosom's pain, Of sorrow's rankling shaft to cure the wound, And bring life's first delusions once again, Twere surely met in thee! — thy prospect fair, Thy sounds of harmony, thy balmy air, Have power to cure all sadness — but despair.
Page 22 - So amply, and with hands so liberal, Thou hast provided all things : But with me I see not who partakes. In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying, what contentment find?
Page 3 - ... wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out.
Page 305 - There was not, on that day, a speck to stain The azure heaven ; the blessed Sun, alone, In unapproachable divinity, Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light. How beautiful, beneath the bright blue sky, The billows...
Page 212 - When a friend is carried to his grave, we at once find excuses for every weakness, and palliations of every fault; we recollect a thousand endearments which before glided off our minds without impression, a thousand favours unrepaid, a thousand duties unperformed, and wish, vainly wish for his return, not so much that we may receive, as that we may bestow happiness, and recompense that kindness which before we never understood.
Page 126 - Is it not now the hour, The holy hour, when to the cloudless height Of yon starr'd concave, climbs the full-orb'd moon, And to this nether world, in solemn stillness.
Page 1 - Ch' un sol punto, un sol neo la può far brutta. 2 La fede unqua non debbe esser corrotta, O data a un solo, o data insieme a mille ; E cosi in una selva, in una grotta, Lontan dalle cittadi e dalle ville, Come dinanzi a tribunali, in frotta Di testimon, di scritti e di postille, Senza giurare, o segno altro più espresso, Basti una volta che s

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