Poetical Works, Volume 5

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Thomas Y. Crowell, 1837 - 523 pages
 

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Page 95 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.
Page 161 - He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity...
Page 219 - A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none, on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy ! — I see the business.
Page 197 - I have liv'd long enough : my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends...
Page 116 - He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day : But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; Himself is his own dungeon.
Page 95 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!
Page 26 - Nor wears a rosy blush, nor sheds perfume ; The few dull flowers that o'er the place are spread Partake the nature of their fenny bed; Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom, Grows the salt lavender that lacks perfume ; Here the dwarf sallows creep, the septfoil harsh, And the soft slimy mallow of the marsh ; Lmv on the ear the distant billows sound, And just in view appears their stony bound...
Page 180 - Yes, he fell " Close at the door where he was wont to dwell ; " There his sole friend, the Ass, was standing by, " Half dead himself, to see his Master die.
Page 22 - ... around, And what is seen is all on fairy ground ; Again they sicken, and on every view Cast their own dull and melancholy hue ; Or, if absorb'd by their peculiar cares, The vacant eye on viewless matter glares, Our feelings still upon our views attend, And their own natures to the objects lend ; Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure., Long as the passion reigns th...
Page 3 - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

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