The seven ages of human life. Old age[] Calcutta, 1842 - 140 oldal |
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affection Anactorium ancient Anne Boleyne arms Augustus Cæsar babe baby Ben Jonson bishop blood blood-hound born breast breath called Carthage Carthaginian celebrated Cellini character child Church Cicero circumstance Clodia cradle curious daughter death Dryden England English epitaph exile eyes father feelings filial piety French friends gives grief hand heart Heaven Henry VIII Holy human infant Innocents instance interesting judicial astrology Julius Cæsar king Lackington Lady living look Lord Lord Byron manumission mentioned Milton mind miracle plays mother native nature never notice nurse o'er observed occasion painted Paradise Lost parents parricide passage Perkin Warbeck persons picture poem poetry poets Pope popular Prince Queen regard reign relates remarkable Roman Rome says scene servant Shakspeare Shakspeare's shew smile soul story tell tender thee thou thought tion toys unto verses whilst writing young
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85. oldal - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
79. oldal - Now therefore, when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad be not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life; it shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die : and thy servants shall bring down the gray hairs of thy- servant our father with sorrow to the grave.
52. oldal - Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's holy head.
127. oldal - And there was a great famine in Samaria : and, behold, they besieged it, until an ass's head was sold for fourscore pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a cab of dove's dung for five pieces of silver.
84. oldal - Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not ' seems.' 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly : these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play : But I have that within which passeth show ; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
87. oldal - And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.
41. oldal - Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite...
139. oldal - Friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep awhile one parent from the sky...
66. oldal - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
128. oldal - I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine : And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.