The Literary Souvenir

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Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown & Green, 1830

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Página 55 - Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it Love-in-idleness.
Página 55 - Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once: The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Página 321 - AT evening time, let there be light; Life's little day draws near its close ; Around me fall the shades of night, The night of death, the grave's repose ; To crown my joys, to end my woes, At evening time, let there be light.
Página 322 - At evening time there shall be light ! For God hath spoken ; it must be ; Fear, doubt, and anguish take their flight ; His glory now is risen on me ; Mine eyes shall his salvation see ; 'T is evening time, and there is light ! 991.
Página 357 - Your wheelings, dartings, divings, rambles, Your restless roving round and round The circuit of your crystal bound, — Is but the task of weary pain, An endless labour, dull and vain ; And while your forms are gaily shining Your little lives are inly pining ! Nay ! but still I fain would dream That ye are happy as ye seem, Deck'd in Oriental pride, By homely British fire-side.
Página 178 - I brought her, one morning, a rose for her brow ; Where is she gone, where is she gone ? She told me such horrors were never worn now : And I — am left all alone...
Página 318 - I never •was a favourite, My mother never smiled On me, with half the tenderness That blessed her fairer child : I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek, While fondled on her knee ; I've turned away, to hide my tears, There was no kiss for me!
Página 318 - I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek, While fondled on her knee ; I've turned away, to hide my tears, — There was no kiss for me ! And yet I strove to please with all My little store of sense ; I strove to please, and infancy Can rarely give offence ; But when my artless efforts met A cold ungentle check, I did not dare to throw myself In tears upon her neck ! How...
Página 199 - Not all alone, — the whispering trees, The rippling brook, the starry sky, — Have each peculiar harmonies, To soothe, subdue, and sanctify : The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh, For thee hath oft a friendly tone, To lift thy grateful thoughts on high...
Página 319 - I strove to please, with all My little store of sense ; I strove to please, and infancy Can rarely give offence ; But when my artless efforts met A cold, ungentle check, I did not dare to throw myself In tears upon her neck. How blessed are the beautiful ! Love watches o'er their birth ; Oh, beauty ! in my nursery I learned to know thy worth, — For even there I often felt Forsaken and forlorn, And wished — for others wished it too — I never had been born.

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