The Life of Oliver Goldsmith, M. B.: From a Variety of Original Sources, Band 2

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Seite 263 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Seite 244 - Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault.
Seite 266 - Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school...
Seite 30 - Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by...
Seite 81 - Twas Edwin's self that prest ! " Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee ! " Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign : And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine ? " No, never from this hour to part, Well live and love so true ; The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Seite 113 - THERE are a hundred faults in this thing, and a hundred things might be said to prove them beauties. But it is needless. A book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity.
Seite 205 - Whether, indeed, we take him as a poet, — as a comic writer, — or as an historian, he stands in the first class.
Seite 458 - I'll make Goldsmith forgive me;" and then called to him in a loud voice, "Dr. Goldsmith, — something passed to-day where you and I dined ; I ask your pardon." Goldsmith answered placidly, "It must be much from you, Sir, that I take ill.
Seite 274 - Redress the rigours of the inclement clime; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him, that states of native strength...
Seite 253 - Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal share...

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