Middleford hall, by the author of 'Ellerton priory' [signing himself Philorphanos].

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Сторінка 210 - All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, Ah ! when shall they all meet again As in the days long since gone by ? The ancient timepiece makes reply, —
Сторінка 77 - On Christmas eve the bells were rung; On Christmas eve the mass w?is sung ; That only night, in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
Сторінка 1 - Half-way up the stairs it stands,. And points and beckons with its hands From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — " Forever — never ! Never — Forever...
Сторінка 88 - I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray ; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye.
Сторінка 92 - As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.
Сторінка 50 - Mother's Love ! — how sweet the name ! What was that Mother's Love ? — The noblest, purest, tenderest flame, That kindles from above, Within a heart of earthly mould, As much of heaven as heart can hold, Nor through eternity grows cold : This was that Mother's Love.
Сторінка 36 - Every day on naughty people. Baby, baby, if he hears you, As he gallops past the house, Limb from limb at once he'll tear you Just as pussy tears a mouse. And he'll beat you, beat you, beat you, And he'll beat you all to pap, And he'll eat you, eat you, eat you, Every morsel snap, snap, snap.
Сторінка 24 - mid sunbeams, Now groping trouts in lucid streams, Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, Now hunting echo's empty sound, Now climbing up some old tall tree — For climbing sake. 'Tis sweet to thee To sit where birds can sit alone, Or share with thee thy venturous throne.

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