The British Poets, Volume 4

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Little, Brown & Company, 1866

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Page 202 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Page 166 - The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?
Page 29 - Those joyous hours are past away ; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While...
Page 162 - Com — com — I say ! You go away ! Into two parts my head you split — My fiddle cannot hear himself a bit, When I do play — You have no bis'ness in a place so still ! Can you not come another day?" Says he—
Page 260 - Till pots, and pans, and mighty kettles ring. 0 culinary Sage! (I do not mean the herb in use, That always goes along with goose,) How have I feasted on thy page ! " When like a lobster boiled, the morn From black to red began to turn," Till midnight, when I went to bed, And clapped my tewah-diddle 1 on my head.
Page 54 - I'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore : — Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door : So he called upon Lucy — 'twas just ten o'clock — Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock. Now, a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at, Will run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat- : So Lucy ran up — and in two seconds more Had questioned the stranger and answered the door.
Page 41 - TO THE REVIEWERS. What is a modern Poet's fate ? To write his thoughts upon a slate ; — The Critic spits on what is done, — Gives it a wipe, — and all is gone.

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