Robert Mornay

Forsideomslag
Chapman and Hall, 1859 - 358 sider

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Side 205 - 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!
Side 160 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
Side 179 - Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, ' That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born.' All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own ; their future selves applaud How excellent that life they ne'er will lead.
Side 328 - The desire of power in excess caused the angels to fall ; the desire of knowledge in excess caused man to fall : but in charity there is no excess ; neither can angel or man come in danger by it.
Side 46 - That day I oft remember, when from sleep I first awaked, and found myself reposed Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound Of waters issued from a cave, and spread Into a liquid...
Side 177 - HOPE. • We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day ; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away. Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, But " The Better" 's for ever the word on the tongue.
Side 139 - O ! how the passions, insolent and strong, " Bear our weak minds their rapid course along ; " Make us the madness of their will obey; " Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey...
Side 190 - ... the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that, if he were in a. desert, he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man becomes the living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what once he was.
Side 318 - There is no life on earth, but being in love ! There are no studies, no delights, no business, No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul, But what is love ! I was the laziest creature, The most unprofitable sign of nothing, The veriest drone, and slept away my life Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love...
Side 351 - Daisies are white upon the churchyard sod, Sweet tears, the clouds lean down and give. This world is very lovely. 0 my God, I thank Thee that I live!

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