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Сторінка 338 - I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me.
Сторінка 243 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Сторінка 337 - as I enter the door of a tavern, I experience an oblivion of care, and a freedom from solicitude : when I am seated, I find the master courteous, and the servants obsequious to my call ; anxious to know and ready to supply my wants : wine there exhilarates my spirits, and prompts me to free conversation, and an interchange of discourse with those whom I most love : I dogmatise, and am contradicted ; and in this conflict of opinions and sentiments I find delight.
Сторінка 338 - I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was...
Сторінка 294 - I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill ; but time and chance happeneth to them all.
Сторінка 87 - There is another fine ode on the installation of the Duke of Grafton, as Chancellor of the University of Cambridge.
Сторінка 385 - XXI. The helm, to his strong arm consign'd, Gave the reef'd sail to meet the wind, And on her alter'd way, Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship, Like greyhound starting from the slip To seize his flying prey. Awaked before the rushing prow, The mimic fires of ocean glow, Those lightnings of the wave ; * Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, And, flashing round, the vessel's sides With elvish lustre lave, While, far behind, their livid light To the dark billows of the night A gloomy splendour...
Сторінка 242 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Сторінка 243 - Groves. 1 heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day, His voice was buried among trees...
Сторінка 53 - What a place to be in is an old library ! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers, that have bequeathed their labours to these Bodleians, were reposing here, as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade.