Temple Bar, Том 121

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Ward and Lock, 1900

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Страница 256 - Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate : I am the captain of my soul.
Страница 31 - Enow of such as for their bellies' sake, Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold? Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths!
Страница 219 - Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
Страница 411 - I hear! —But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Страница 29 - Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword To force our consciences that Christ set free, And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy, Taught ye by mere AS and Rutherford? Men whose life, learning, faith and pure intent Would have been held in high esteem with Paul...
Страница 222 - Indicting and arraigning every day Something they call a play. Let their fastidious, vain Commission of the brain Run on and rage, sweat, censure and condemn: They were not made for thee, less thou for them.
Страница 219 - Epitaph on Elizabeth, LH Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live. If at all she had a fault Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, Th' other, let it sleep with death; Fitter, where it died, to tell, Than that it lived at all.
Страница 216 - Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part; For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion; and that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, Such as thine are, and strike the second heat Upon the muses...
Страница 218 - For Love's sake, kiss me once again, I long, and should not beg in vain. Here's none to spy, or see; Why do you doubt, or stay? I'll taste as lightly as the bee, That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.
Страница 268 - Like them to shine through long succeeding age,, So just thy skill, so regular my rage. Smit with the love of sister-arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame ; Like friendly colours found them both unite, And each from each contract new strength and light. How oft...

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