Sketches of Lancashire Life and Localities

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Whittaker & Company, 1855 - 260 sider

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Side 75 - Art is long and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Side 73 - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
Side 208 - I see the spectacle of morning from the hilltop over against my house, from daybreak to sunrise, with emotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid transformations; the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify us with a few and cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I will...
Side 74 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Side 74 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Side 1 - It's hardly in a body's pow'r, To keep, at times, frae being sour, To see how things are shar'd ; How best o...
Side 233 - Under the Greenwood Tree Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i...
Side 74 - Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid...
Side 75 - Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Side 41 - My sledge and hammer lie reclined, My bellows, too, have lost their wind; . My fire's extinct, my forge decayed, And in the dust my vice is laid. My coal is spent, my iron's gone, My nails are drove, my work is done ; My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest, And, smoke-like, soars up to be bless'd.

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