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Page 179 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 58 - Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune : Could love and could hate, so was thought somewhat odd ; No very great wit ;— he believed in a God. A post or a pension he did not desire, But left Church and State to Charles Townshend and Squire.
Page 79 - Yet Michael the archangel, when contending with the devil he disputed about the body of Moses, durst not bring against him a railing accusation, but said, The Lord rebuke thee.
Page 169 - Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
Page 172 - By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air!
Page 164 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Page 53 - I, that have borne a bag, be not now in my age forced in effect to bear a wallet; nor I, that desire to live to study, may not be driven to study to live.
Page 22 - Dashington ; a youth excelling In all the learning commonly provided For those who choose that classic station For finishing their education. That is — he understood computing The odds at any race or match ; Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting ; Could kick up rows, knock down the watch, Play truant and the rake at random, Drink, tie cravats, and drive a tandem.
Page 140 - Gone to salute the rising morn. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.