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Seite 189 - While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Seite 218 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...
Seite 305 - Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much ; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. Books are not seldom talismans and spells, By which the magic art of shrewder wits Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd.
Seite 305 - Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Seite 130 - For they that led us away captive required of us then a song, and melody, in our heaviness : Sing us one of the songs of Sion.
Seite 305 - The insupportable fatigue of thought, And swallowing therefore without pause or choice The 'total grist unsifted, husks and all. But trees and rivulets, whose rapid course Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root, Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, Not shy, as in the world, and to be won By slow solicitation, seize at once The roving thought,...
Seite 32 - Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun, And they had now their early meal begun, When two brown boys just left their grassy seat, The early...
Seite 305 - Here the heart May give a useful lesson to the head, And Learning wiser grow without his books.
Seite 239 - Rufus, being slain, as before related, was laid in a cart belonging to one Purkess, and drawn from hence to Winchester, and buried in the cathedral church of that city.
Seite 13 - Tiber, diminished in his imagination to a paltry stream, flowing amid the ruins of that magnificence which it once adorned. It is not the triumph of superstition over the wreck of human greatness, and its monuments erected upon the very spot where the first honours of humanity have been gained. It is ancient Rome which fills his imagination. It is the country of Czesar, and Cicero, and Virgil, which is before him. It is the mistress of the world which he sees, and who seems to him to rise again from...