The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, 2. kötet

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Bradbury and Evans, 1854

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232. oldal - Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around, And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high. Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired.
309. oldal - Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks...
231. oldal - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down...
413. oldal - I have ever hated all nations, professions, and communities, and all my love is towards individuals; for instance, I hate the tribe of lawyers, but I love Counsellor Such-a-one and Judge Such-a-one; so with physicians — I will not speak of my own trade — soldiers, English, Scotch, French, and the rest. But principally I hate and detest that animal called man, although I heartily love John, Peter, Thomas, and so forth.
308. oldal - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
233. oldal - Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care : No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
218. oldal - No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.
138. oldal - To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
232. oldal - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door: The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules...
142. oldal - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please...

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