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Strona 304 - I'd say, your woes were not less keen, Your hopes more vain, than those of men ; Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen, At forty-five played o'er again. I'd say, we suffer and we strive Not less nor more as men than boys ; With grizzled beards at forty-five, As erst at twelve, in corduroys. And if, in time of sacred youth, We learned at home to love and pray, Pray heaven, that early love and truth May never wholly pass away.
Strona 150 - She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me. When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Strona 223 - Street, was sacred to polite letters. There the talk was about poetical justice and the unities of place and time. There was a faction for Perrault and the moderns, a faction for Boileau and the ancients. One group debated whether Paradise Lost ought not to have been in rhyme. To another an envious poetaster demonstrated that Venice Preserved ought to have been hooted from the stage.
Strona 222 - His chief pleasures were commonly derived from field sports and from an unrefined sensuality. His language and pronunciation were such as we should now expect to hear only from the most ignorant clowns.
Strona 245 - Yet more — the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters' roar, The battle thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! Give back the true and brave!
Strona 304 - And longing passion unfulfilled. Amen ! whatever fate be sent, Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow. Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart, * CB ob.
Strona 375 - My only regret is that I have but one life to give for my country...
Strona 304 - I'd say, how fate may change and shift; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down.
Strona 301 - Many thousands of square miles which are now rich corn land and meadow, intersected by green hedgerows, and dotted with villages and pleasant country seats, would appear as moors overgrown with furze, or fens abandoned to wild ducks. We should see straggling huts built of wood and covered with thatch where we now see manufacturing towns and seaports renowned to the farthest ends of the world.