Waverley Novels: Vol. 2, Volume 2

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Cadell, 1843 - 676 pages
 

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Page 64 - For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay ; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Page 519 - But thus saith the LORD, Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken away, and the prey of the terrible shall be delivered: for I will contend with him that contendeth with thee, and I will save thy children.
Page 499 - SAVE me, O God ; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.
Page 543 - And I will bring a sword upon you, that shall avenge the quarrel of my covenant: and when ye are gathered together within your cities, I will send the pestilence among you; and ye shall be delivered into the hand of the enemy.
Page 610 - Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
Page 225 - Crabbed age and youth cannot live together Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare; Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O, my love, my love is young!
Page 325 - When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he.
Page 106 - I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood...
Page 519 - And I will feed them that oppress thee with their own flesh; And they shall be drunken with their own blood, as with sweet wine: And all flesh shall know that I the Lord am thy Saviour And thy Redeemer, the mighty One of Jacob.
Page 106 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...

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