Cheveley: Or, The Man of Honour, Volume 1

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Page 167 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Page 157 - That led th' embattled Seraphim to war. MILTON O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Closed under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, To scaud poor wretches ! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor damned bodies be ; I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, E'en to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, An...
Page 72 - Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine.
Page 147 - Hudibras has given, why those who can talk on trifles speak with the greatest fluency ; namely, that the tongue is like a race-horse, which runs the faster the lesser weight it carries. Which of these reasons soever may be looked upon as the most probable, 1 think the Irishman's thought was very natural, who, after some hours...
Page 146 - I have sometimes fancied that they have not a retentive power, or the faculty of suppressing their thoughts, as men have, but that they are necessitated to speak every thing they think ; and if so, it would perhaps furnish a very strong argument to the Cartesians for the supporting of their doctrine that the soul always thinks. But as several are of opinion that...
Page 202 - Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.
Page 119 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me: Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.
Page 147 - The world of a child's imagination is the creation of a far holier spell than hath ever been wrought by the pride of learning, or the inspiration of poetic fancy. Innocence, that thinketh no evil ; ignorance, that apprehendeth none ; hope, that hath experienced no blight ; love, that suspecteth no guile. These are its ministering angels these wield a wand of power, making this earth a paradise. Time, hard, rigid teacher ! Reality, rough, stern reality ! World, cold, heartless world !...
Page 73 - The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round; The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Through life to dwell delighted here; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!
Page 138 - O sacrosante Vergini, se fami, Freddi, o vigilie mai per voi soffersi, Cagion mi sprona, ch

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