The Young Lady's Home

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W. J. Reynolds, 1847 - Women - 332 pages
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Page 289 - The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man ; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
Page 185 - When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother ; Woman, behold thy son ! Then saith he to the disciple ; Behold thy Mother ! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own iiome.
Page 49 - Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold, Hung drooping unsustained; them she upstays Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.
Page 189 - Things vulgar and, well weighed, scarce worth the praise? They praise, and they admire they know not what. And know not whom, but as one leads the other...
Page 277 - O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields...
Page 311 - A something, light as air — a look, A word unkind or wrongly taken — Oh! love, that tempests never shook, A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
Page 269 - ... life, knowledge of good and evil ? Of good, how just ? of evil, if what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier...
Page 164 - He that questioneth much, shall learn much, and content much; but especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom he asketh: for he shall give them occasion to please themselves in speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge. But let his questions not be troublesome; for that is fit for a poser.
Page 194 - The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon : Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : The canker galls the infants of the spring, Too oft before their buttons be disclosed ; And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Page 187 - Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow — Hues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the heart.

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