Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Інші видання - Показати все
appear arms bear beauty bids breaſt cauſe charms court dare death deep divine dread earth eternal ev'ry face fair fall fame fate fear feel fire firſt flow fool foul gave genius give glory grace grave hand head hear heart heaven himſelf honour hope hour human immortal kind king laſt learning leave light live look Lord mean mind moſt muſe muſt nature never night o'er once pain peace pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride proud rage reaſon riſe round ſay ſcene ſee ſenſe ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſome ſoul ſpirit ſtill ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thought throne true truth turn virtue whole whoſe wing wiſe young youth
Сторінка 217 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Сторінка 217 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Сторінка 223 - Sisters, weave the web of death; Sisters, cease, the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Сторінка 63 - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Сторінка 247 - I saw difficulties which staggered me ; but I kept my mind open to conviction. The evidences and doctrines of Christianity, studied with attention, made me a most firm and persuaded believer of the Christian religion. I have made it the rule of my life, and it is the ground of my future hopes.
Сторінка 231 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Сторінка 220 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Сторінка 14 - Alas ! misfortunes travel in a train, And oft in life form one perpetual chain ; Fear buries fear, and ills on ills attend, Till life and sorrow meet one common end.