Sidney Roemlee: A Tale of New England, Volume 3

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Bowles and Dearborn, 1827
 

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Page 22 - And, certes,* in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind. What is a lordling's pomp ? A cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind!
Page 47 - It's no in titles nor in rank ; It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, To purchase peace and rest ; It's no in making muckle mair : It's no in books ; it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang ; The heart aye's the part aye, That makes us right or wrang.
Page 98 - ... there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will.
Page 54 - I came to the place of my birth, and said, ' The friends of my youth, where are they ?' and Echo answered,
Page 183 - Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 254 - Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil ; hurts the faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science ; blinds The eyesight of Discovery ; and begets, In those that suffer it, a sordid mind Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man's noble form.
Page 250 - tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
Page 97 - Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.
Page 23 - Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine...

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