Here and There in the Home Land: England, Scotland and Ireland, as Seen by a Canadian

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W. Briggs, 1895 - 616 páginas
 

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Página 361 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore...
Página 508 - The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The sire turns o'er, wi...
Página 511 - O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; " For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.
Página 256 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Página 492 - They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday ; but all things have their end : Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death that we have.
Página 103 - Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow. Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
Página 199 - And Jesus went into the Temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the Temple, and overthrew the tables of the money-changers, and the seats of them that sold doves, and said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer ; but ye have made it a den of thieves.
Página 416 - THERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon.
Página 27 - They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.
Página 258 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...

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