Amaranth

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Phillips & Sampson, 1855

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Page 161 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity...
Page 99 - twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy.
Page 51 - That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting...
Page 52 - Tis right, quoth he : thus misery doth part The flux of company. Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him ; Ay...
Page 161 - So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him ! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with charity. He was a man Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking Himself with princes — one that by suggestion...
Page 51 - To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood...
Page 52 - thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; ' 'Tis right,' quoth he ; ' thus misery doth part The flux of company.
Page 131 - Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, And one alone, to make her sweet amends For absent heaven the bosom of a friend ; Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft, Each other's pillow to repose divine.
Page 71 - He was justly accounted a skilful poisoner who destroyed his victims by bouquets of lovely and fragrant flowers. The art has not been lost nay, it is practised every day by — the world ! — BISHOP LATHIER.
Page 189 - CLXXVII •Oh, that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her ! Ye Elements, in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted, can ye not Accord me such a being ? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot, Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot...

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