Rosamond, a sequel to Early lessons

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Seite 121 - I do not like thee, Doctor Fell; The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know and know full well. I do not like thee. Doctor Fell!
Seite 145 - First with nice eye emerging Naiads cull From leathery pods the vegetable wool; With wiry teeth revolving cards release The tangled knots, and smooth the ravell'd fleece; Next moves the iron hand with fingers fine, Combs the wide card, and forms the eternal line...
Seite 143 - RUIN seize thee, ruthless king ! Confusion on thy banners wait ! Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears...
Seite 133 - ... do not like you, Dr. Fell. "The reason why, I cannot tell "But this I know, and know full well, "I do not like you, Dr. Fell...
Seite 143 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep : they do not sleep ! On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Seite 106 - Thy arts of building from the bee receive; Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave; Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.
Seite 144 - Humour can prevail, When Airs, and Flights, and Screams, and Scolding fail. Beauties in vain their pretty Eyes may roll ; Charms strike the Sight, but Merit wins the Soul.
Seite 146 - With wiry teeth revolving cards release The tangled knots, and smooth the ravell'd fleece; Next moves the iron hand with fingers fine, Combs the wide card, and forms the eternal line; Slow, with soft lips, the whirling can acquires The tender skeins, and wraps in rising spires; With quicken'd pace successive rollers move, And these retain, and those extend the rove; Then fly the spoles, the rapid axles glow, And slowly circumvolves the labouring wheel below.
Seite 145 - EVENING If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs and dying gales...
Seite 140 - Oh, how will your bosom be torn, When you see me lie dead on the ground ! " Then pity a poor little thing, And throw me a part of your store ; I'll fly off in the first of the spring, And never will trouble you more.

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