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Сторінка 42 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings...
Сторінка 37 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Сторінка 25 - How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Сторінка lxx - Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick If they were not his own by finessing and trick: He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.
Сторінка 37 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate...
Сторінка 39 - Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Сторінка 46 - While, scourged by famine from the smiling land The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms — a garden, and a grave.
Сторінка 57 - No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn ; Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them. " But from the mountain's grassy side, A guiltless feast I bring ; A scrip, with herbs and fruits supply'd, And water from the spring. " Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong ; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Сторінка 15 - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.