The Century, Band 8

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Century Company, 1874
 

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Seite 300 - To the Reader THIS Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face; the Print would then surpasse All, that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke.
Seite 364 - Life ! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard. to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.
Seite 439 - Friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep awhile one parent from the sky...
Seite 594 - Just when I seemed about to learn! Where is the thread now? Off again! The old trick! Only I discern — Infinite passion and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
Seite 461 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point...
Seite 319 - Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.
Seite 302 - See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.
Seite 594 - I would I could adopt your will, See with your eyes, and set my heart Beating by yours, and drink my fill At your soul's springs, - your part my part In life, for good and ill.
Seite 600 - I am not yet so lost in lexicography as to forget that 'words are the daughters of earth, and that things are the sons of heaven.
Seite 148 - Lo ! I forgive thee, as Eternal God Forgives : do thou for thine own soul the rest.

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