Selected Essays, Volume 1

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Scribner and Welford, 1879
 

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Page 83 - And rise to faults true critics dare not mend. From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part. And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, Which, without passing through the judgment, gains The heart, and all its end at once attains.
Page 330 - Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame, I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart : I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Page 106 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the...
Page 214 - Thou hast also known too well ! Fairest flower, behold the lily, Blooming in the sunny ray : Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, See it prostrate on the clay. Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, Telling o'er his little joys ; Hapless bird ! a prey the surest To each pirate of the skies. Dearly bought the hidden treasure Finer feelings can bestow ; Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Page 92 - Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; If but a beam of sober Reason play, Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away ! But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour ? These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, Pour round her path a stream of living light ; And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest ! from
Page 115 - Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light: But, oh ! she dances such a way— No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.
Page 117 - Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, — an excellent thing in woman.
Page 22 - Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
Page 324 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

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