The précis book: or Lessons in accuracy of statement [&c.]. [With] Key

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Página 178 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years...
Página 181 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Página 177 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Página 179 - mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes ! See at his feet some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art — A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral ; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song. Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife : But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new...
Página 178 - Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy ; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
Página 174 - For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nurs'd by baseness : tbou art by no means valiant ; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm : thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.
Página 174 - Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What 's yet in this, That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Página 2 - How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year ! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Página 180 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Página 181 - We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May...

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