Irving's Works: Oliver Goldsmith

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G. P. Putnam's sons, 1864
 

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Стр. 28 - 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. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he...
Стр. 289 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep...
Стр. 259 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Стр. 425 - Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please. But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Стр. 289 - But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Стр. 185 - The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Стр. 26 - His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast.
Стр. 206 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds, too late, that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is— to die.
Стр. 229 - Johnson talked to his majesty with profound respect, but still in his firm manly manner, with a sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly used at the levee and in the drawingroom.
Стр. 154 - Ah, Sir, I was mad and violent. It was bitterness which they mistook for frolic. I was miserably poor, and I thought to fight my way by my literature and my wit ; so I disregarded all power and all authority.

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