Forty years in the world; or, Sketches and tales of a soldier's life, by the author of Fifteen years in India, Том 3

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Стр. 13 - If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O ! I have suffered With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces.
Стр. 289 - Know, all the good that individuals find, Or God and nature meant to mere mankind, Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence But health consists with temperance alone ; And peace, oh virtue ! peace is all thy own.
Стр. 38 - Rejoice the soul of thy servant : for unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.
Стр. 39 - Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sufferance make its firm abode In bare and desolated bosoms ; mute The camel labours with the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence...
Стр. 261 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch*. When owls do cry, '} \ On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Стр. 1 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye. But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die...
Стр. 227 - Then before All they stand — the holy vow And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, Bind her as his. Across the threshold led, And every tear kissed off as soon as shed, His house she enters — there to be a light Shining within, when all without is night ; A guardian- angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing...
Стр. 244 - Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, Winning from Reason's hand the reins, Pity and woe ! for such a mind Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; And woe to those who train such youth, And spare to press the rights of truth...
Стр. 120 - Ay me ! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, i; ' The course of true love never did run smooth ; But, either it was different in blood, — Her.
Стр. 171 - And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence? How the dear object from the crime remove, Or how distinguish penitence from love? Unequal task! a passion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain, — do all things but forget.

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