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Page 43 - THE BODY of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Printer, (like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stript of its lettering and gilding) lies here food for worms ; yet the work itself shall not be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended by THE AUTHOR.
Page 85 - Direct it flies and rapid, Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches, My son ! the road, the human being travels, That, on which BLESSING comes and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings, Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines. Honoring the holy bounds of property ! And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.
Page 148 - FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well : Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
Page 237 - And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. SONG. Black spirits and white, Red spirits and grey ; Mingle, mingle, mingle, You that mingle may.
Page 336 - Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way...
Page 315 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 325 - Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, Like Hope upon a deathbed, and, unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn: Resembling, mid the torture of the scene. Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.
Page 83 - Or ever your pots be made hot with thorns : so let indignation vex him, even as a thing that is raw.
Page 339 - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion?