The Literature and the Literary Men of Great Britain and Ireland, Volume 2

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Page 382 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 340 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page 382 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault...
Page 451 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or Freeman fa...
Page 382 - But, in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Page 586 - If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms never, never, never!
Page 381 - Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made!
Page 338 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 423 - My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise The son of parents passed into the skies!
Page 295 - And that through every stage: when young, indeed, In full content we, sometimes, nobly rest, Unanxious for ourselves ; and only wish, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool: Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves; and re-resolves; then dies the same.

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