Recollections of a ramble, during the summer of 1816, in a letter to a friend

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Smith and Elder, 1817 - 149 стор.
 

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Сторінка 145 - Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days. The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
Сторінка 4 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean : This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.
Сторінка 109 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place.
Сторінка 109 - I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own.
Сторінка 120 - Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on thee, Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed By British hands, which it had best behoved To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.
Сторінка 146 - That viewing it we seem almost to obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
Сторінка 95 - Nothing is proof against the general curse Of vanity, that seizes all below. The only amaranthine flower on earth, Is virtue : the only lasting treasure, truth.
Сторінка 146 - ... glowing hot, Playing -our games, and on the very spot ; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw ;" To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat ; The pleasing spectacle at once excites Such recollection of our own delights, That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again.
Сторінка 46 - THE lapse of time and rivers is the same, Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; The silent pace, with which they steal away, No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay ; Alike irrevocable both when past, And a wide ocean swallows both at last...

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