The Parterre of fiction, poetry, history [&c.]., Volum 3

Forside
 

Hva folk mener - Skriv en omtale

Vi har ikke funnet noen omtaler på noen av de vanlige stedene.

Innhold

Andre utgaver - Vis alle

Vanlige uttrykk og setninger

Populære avsnitt

Side 238 - I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare : — If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale...
Side 356 - That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a
Side 155 - As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!
Side 237 - Tis my desire to be alone : Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly : Nought so sweet as melancholy...
Side 247 - THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, — They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
Side 54 - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life, to lead From, joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is...
Side 245 - The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
Side 331 - No — he was a man who had a real, simple, and sincere love for the birds of the air, the beasts of the field...
Side 157 - ... as being out of countenance; his beard was very thin: his tongue too large for his mouth, which ever made him speak full in the mouth, and made him drink very uncomely, as if eating his drink, which came out into the cup of each side of his mouth; his skin was as soft as taffeta sarsnet, which felt so, because he never washed his hands, only rubbed his fingers ends slightly with the wet end of a napkin.

Bibliografisk informasjon