The Literary History of England in the End of the Eighteenth and Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, Volume 2

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Page 96 - The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long! She wept with...
Page 302 - ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Page 10 - When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet fore-warning?
Page 47 - I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir.
Page 302 - The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,
Page 299 - I think I shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such another companion.
Page 58 - Poetry has this much, at least, in common with religion, that its standards were fixed long ago, by certain inspired writers, whose authority it is no longer lawful to call in question...
Page 291 - I am not ashamed, afraid, or averse to tell you what Ought to be Told: That I am under the direction of Messengers from Heaven, Daily & Nightly; but the nature of such things is not, as some suppose, without trouble or care.
Page 343 - Life ! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard. to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.
Page 364 - I could see the prodigious sand-hill, where I had begun my gardening works. What a nothing ! But now came rushing into my mind all at once my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that I used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle, and tender-hearted, and affectionate mother! I hastened back into the room. If I had looked a moment longer I should have dropped.

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