The Stanley Tales, Original and Select, Volum 4

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W. Morgan, 1827
 

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Side 102 - OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. On ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid ; Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
Side 37 - Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'dst have, great Glamis, that which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it, And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should...
Side 4 - Marian, elegantly habited in a watchet-coloured tunic reaching to the ground ; over which she wore a white linen rochet with loose sleeves, fringed •with silver, and very neatly plaited ; her girdle was of silver baudekin, fastened with a double bow on the left side ; her long flaxen hair was divided into many ringlets, and flowed upon her shoulders ; the top part of her head was covered with a net-work cawl of gold, upon which was placed a garland of silver, ornamented with blue violets.
Side 50 - And fill with tears of joy my eyes. What is there my wild heart can prize, That doth not in thy sphere abide ; Haunt of my home-bred sympathies, My own — my own fireside.
Side 16 - Their clasp was on the empty air: A funeral pall — her long black hair Fell over her ; herself the tomb Of her own youth, and breath, and bloom. Alas ! that man should ever win So sweet a shrine to shame and sin % As woman's heart ! — and deeper woe For her fond weakness, not to know That yielding all but breaks the chain That never reunites again...
Side 308 - Negro-exile languish'd in the West, With nothing left of life but hated breath, And not a hope except the hope in death, To fly for ever from the Creole-strand, And dwell a freeman in his father-land.
Side 50 - Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets : More needs she the divine than the physician: — God, God forgive us all!
Side 1 - The feeling heart, simplicity of life, And elegance and taste: the faultless form, Shap'd by the hand of harmony...
Side 299 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
Side 356 - I leaned against a lime-tree, and looked round on the peacefulness of Nature. My thoughts were with other and happier times, — my meditations were sad, but not bitter, — there was one image had been painfully recalled to my memory, and a thousand fond associations started up and played around the recollection. I was startled from a reverie like this by the sound of an approaching footstep. It was a servant of the house, who delivered me a letter, which I read as follows : — • " I have performed...

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