Recueil choisi de traits historiques et de contes moraux

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1867
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Page 278 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is...
Page 296 - ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Page 298 - What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,
Page 272 - Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.
Page 314 - And hitting and splitting, And shining and twining, And rattling and battling, And shaking and quaking, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving...
Page 276 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 282 - Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life's tragedy again. Its piteous pageants bring not back Nor waken flesh, upon the rack Of pain anew to writhe , Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe.
Page 282 - What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill ; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, The vassals of his will ; — Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day...
Page 298 - ... his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Page 284 - Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste — Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his Immortality, Or shake his trust in God ! A DREAM.

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