The Author, Volume 1

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William Henry Hills
Writer Publishing Company, 1889
 

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Página 2 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Página 137 - Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts...
Página 3 - For now the Poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry : 'Proclaim the faults he would not show : Break lock and seal: betray the trust: Keep nothing sacred : 'tis but just The many-headed beast should know.
Página 123 - If thou art borrowed by a friend, Right welcome shall he be To read, to study, not to lend, But to return to me. Not that imparted knowledge doth Diminish learning's store; But Books, I find, if often lent, Return to me no more. Read slowly, Pause frequently, Think seriously, Keep cleanly, return duly, With the corners of the leaves not turned down.
Página 171 - And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith: Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; But he shouted a song for the brave and the free — Just read on his medal, "My country,
Página 3 - SHALL I sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see? Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? ' ' Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key ? Invite the world, as my betters have done?
Página 105 - Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem ;' To copy Nature is to copy them.
Página 17 - I should have a biographer, he ought to make great mention of this chamber in my memoirs, because so much of my lonely youth was wasted here, and here my mind and character were formed ; and here I have been glad and hopeful, and here I have been despondent. And here I sat a long, long time, waiting patiently for the world to know me, and sometimes wondering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever know me at all, — at least, till I were in my grave.
Página 11 - I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair; I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair; I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows, And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed, For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead; But they died not by hunger or lingering decay ; The steel of the white man hath swept them away.
Página 43 - BETTER trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blessed one's life with true believing. Oh, in this mocking world, too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth; Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth.

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