Belgravia, Volume 27

Front Cover
Willmer & Rogers, 1875

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Page 329 - It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.
Page 328 - Writ in my wild unhallowed Times; For every sentence, clause and word, That's not inlaid with Thee, (my Lord) Forgive me God, and blot each Line j Out of my Book, that is not Thine. But if, 'mongst all, thou find'st here one Worthy thy Benediction; That One of all the rest, shall be The Glory of my Work, and Me.
Page 326 - His muse was of universal access ; and he was not only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a disguising was intended by the company of goldsmiths, a mask before his majesty at Eltham, a...
Page 326 - Far, far passing, That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of merry Margaret, As Midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower...
Page 466 - ... worth when new five pounds. His house was perfectly of the old fashion, in the midst of a large park well stocked with deer...
Page 280 - Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day ; yet a few years and the blast of the desert comes ; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield.
Page 467 - At one end of this room was a door, which opened into a closet, where stood bottles of strong beer and wine, which never came out but in single glasses, which was the rule of the house, for he never exceeded himself, nor permitted others to exceed.
Page 397 - Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour : in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake, and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.
Page 333 - The English, generally remarkable for doing very good things in a very bad manner, seem to have reserved the maturity and plenitude of their awkwardness for the pulpit.
Page 257 - Thy suppliant, I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel, in this uttermost distress My only strength and stay; forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist ? While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace; both joining, As join'd in injuries, one enmity Against a foe by doom express assign'd us, That cruel serpent.

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