The Miscellaneous Works of Oliver Goldsmith: With an Account of His Life and Writings

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Galignani & Didot, 1825
 

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Стр. liv - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Стр. 40 - Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; All earth-born cares are wrong; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Стр. iii - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee ; Still to my Brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Стр. xcii - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year...
Стр. 152 - 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. lxxiii - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Стр. cvi - BY inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety.
Стр. lxxix - 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.
Стр. lxxxviii - Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Стр. 102 - This person was no other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard, who has written so many little books for children : he called himself their friend; but he was the friend of all mankind. He was no sooner alighted, but he was in haste to be gone; for he was ever on business of the utmost importance, and was at that time actually compiling materials for the history of on

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