The Recreations of a Country Parson. Second SeriesTicknor and Fields, 1861 - 442 Seiten |
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Seite 8
... quiet and beautiful scene ; and it pleases me to think that Britain has thousands and thousands like it . But of course none , in my mind , equal this : for this has been my home for five years . I have been sitting here for an hour ...
... quiet and beautiful scene ; and it pleases me to think that Britain has thousands and thousands like it . But of course none , in my mind , equal this : for this has been my home for five years . I have been sitting here for an hour ...
Seite 11
... and downhearted . At length , as the sunset is gilding the swept harvest - fields , you reach the quiet little railway station among the hills . It is wonder- ful to see it . There is no village : COUNTRY PARSON'S LIFE . 11.
... and downhearted . At length , as the sunset is gilding the swept harvest - fields , you reach the quiet little railway station among the hills . It is wonder- ful to see it . There is no village : COUNTRY PARSON'S LIFE . 11.
Seite 12
... quiet ! You interrogate your servant first in the comprehensive question , if all is right . Relieved by his general affirm- ative answer , you descend into particulars . Any one sick in the parish ? how was the church attended on the ...
... quiet ! You interrogate your servant first in the comprehensive question , if all is right . Relieved by his general affirm- ative answer , you descend into particulars . Any one sick in the parish ? how was the church attended on the ...
Seite 17
... quiet grave . God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb ; or I should wonder how it does not drive some country parsons mad , to think what would become of their children if they were taken away . It is the warm nest upon the rotten bough ...
... quiet grave . God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb ; or I should wonder how it does not drive some country parsons mad , to think what would become of their children if they were taken away . It is the warm nest upon the rotten bough ...
Seite 18
... quietly slipping into a pew close to the door , will stamp noisily up the passage to the further extrem- ity of the church . Various faces will look up at you week by week , hopelessly blank of all interest or intelli- gence . Some ...
... quietly slipping into a pew close to the door , will stamp noisily up the passage to the further extrem- ity of the church . Various faces will look up at you week by week , hopelessly blank of all interest or intelli- gence . Some ...
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Seite 174 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Seite 110 - tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your Teacher.
Seite 128 - There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
Seite 226 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Seite 412 - Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Seite 187 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Seite 295 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Seite 329 - O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest — Ps.
Seite 122 - And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.
Seite 305 - From the lone shieling of the misty island Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas — Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, And we in dreams behold the Hebrides : Fair these broad meads, &c.