An English grammar, methodical, analytical and historical, tr. by C.J. Grece, Band 1

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Seite 300 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than Heaven pursue. What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives, T
Seite 279 - And styled of war as well as peace. (So some rats of amphibious nature Are either for the land or water.) But here our authors make a doubt Whether he were more wise or stout.
Seite 280 - Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Seite 291 - That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air, My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — From those deep cisterns flows.
Seite 263 - In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality; His great fires up the chimney roared; The stranger feasted at his board; But, like the skeleton at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased, — "Forever — never! Never — forever!
Seite 238 - The ball always concludes with English country dances, to the number of thirty or forty couple, and so ill danced, that there is very little pleasure in them. They know but half a dozen, and they have danced them over and over these fifty years : I would fain have taught them some new ones, but I found it would be some months' labour to make them comprehend them.
Seite 259 - Ah ! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave — Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm, and fresh and still, Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine are heard.
Seite 260 - Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Seite 266 - But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections: now we clap Our hands, and cry, " Eureka ! it is clear — " When but some false mirage of ruin rises near.
Seite 258 - Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing. And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep...

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