The Flowers of Literature: Consisting of Selections from History, Biography, Poetry, and Romance; Jeux D'esprit, Traditionary Relics, and Essays, with Translations from Approved Authors, Volume 2
T. Tegg, 1824 - English literature
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The Flowers of Literature; Consisting of Selections from History, Biography ...
W. 1784-1824 Oxberry
No preview available - 2016
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affected answered appeared arms asked beautiful better body brought Caleb called carried continued dead death delight door dress earth eyes face fair father fear feel fire flowers four French gave give half hand Harz head hear heard heart honour hope hour Italy kind king lady Laurette learned leaves less light living look manner March means Michelle mind month morning mountain nature never night offered officer once passed person pleasure present reason received remain replied rose round seemed seen short side smiles soon soul sound speak spirits spring stand tears thee thing thou thought told took trees turned voice whole wild wind woman young youth
Page 115 - 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...
Page 147 - LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius reinspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
Page 121 - O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice...
Page 123 - Get up, get up for shame ! the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Page 350 - Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, LORD, it is good for us to be here : if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles ; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.
Page 180 - I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land.
Page 254 - ... stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet boxcoats and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and that nondescript animal...
Page 257 - I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it gradually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret; then there was a laugh; then I heard nothing more. After a little while my landlady came out with an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As she went down stairs, I heard the landlord ask her what was the matter; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool.
Page 127 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Page 351 - Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh, meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve.