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Adela answer asked baccarat beautiful began Berrogain better carriage Causton Chagford companion course dark Dartmoor doctor Doery Dono Donovan felt Donovan's face door Dot's dread Drury Lane Ellis Farrant exclaimed eyes father feel fellow Foxtor Mire Gladys glanced grey half hand hard heard heart hope hurried injustice knew laughing listened live looked Mephistopheles milord mind minutes misery Monaco monsieur Monte Carlo morning mother ne'er-do-weel ness Nesta never night Noir Frewin Noir's nurse Oakdene old captain once pain parrot passed pause Plymouth Sound poor Porthkerran portmanteau Prince Town quiet realised remember replied Donovan Roccabruna rogain round seemed Sheepstor silence smile sort speak spite strange struggle Sweepstakes talk tell thing thought Tremain Trenant turned uncon utterly voice Waif waited walked watched weary words wretched
Seite 34 - And I say unto you, make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness ; that when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.
Seite 199 - Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine.
Seite 124 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Seite 190 - Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for), but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear ; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
Seite 82 - Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition: but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;' And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should...
Seite 38 - Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight May be a token that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face ! The fall thou darest to despise, — May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand ; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings.
Seite 305 - Papa says it is because she thinks, there is only one side. As if, you know, we were all made alike ! ' 'I told you it wasn't the big books that bored me,' said Donovan. ' What do you think of this ? ' He handed her a little brown volume, and turning to the title-page Gladys read — ' An Inquiry into the Nature, Symptoms, and Effects of Religious Declension, with the Means of Recovery.
Seite 149 - Man-like is it to fall into sin, Fiend-like is it to dwell therein ; Christ-like is it for sin to grieve ; God-like is it all sin to leave.
Seite 304 - Love, and greater than thy years. The Sun will run his orbit, and the Moon Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit Of wisdom. Wait: my faith is large in Time, And that which shapes it to some perfect end.
Seite 124 - SPRING. I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sat reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.