Eastbury: A Tale

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W. Pickering, 1851 - 428 oldal
 

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58. oldal - Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, You pine among your halls and towers: The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth. But sickening of a vague disease You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these.
350. oldal - Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead...
145. oldal - Do what I may, go where I will, Thou meet'st my sight; There dost thou glide before me still — A form of light! I feel thy breath upon my cheek, I see thee smile, I hear thee speak, Till oh! my heart is like to break, Casa Wappy! Methinks thou smil'st before me now, With glance of stealth; The hair thrown back from thy full brow, In buoyant health : I see thine eyes' deep violet light, Thy dimpled cheek carnatiou'd bright, Thy clasping arms so round and white, Casa Wappy!
146. oldal - The nursery shows thy pictured wall, Thy bat, thy bow, Thy cloak and bonnet, club and ball; But where art thou? A corner holds thine empty chair, Thy playthings idly scattered there, But speak to us of our despair, Casa Wappy!
216. oldal - I can not show, All polluted is my best ; But I weary am, I know, And the weary long for rest. 2. Burdened with a load of sin, Harassed with tormenting doubt, Hourly conflicts from within, Hourly crosses from without; All my little strength is gone, Sink I must without supply ; Sure upon the earth is none Can more weary be than I. 3. In the ark the weary dove Found a welcome resting-place...
216. oldal - DOES the gospel word proclaim Rest for those that weary be ? Then my soul put in thy claim, Sure that promise speaks to thee...
58. oldal - ... wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands ? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go.
146. oldal - t is sweet balm to our despair, Fond, fairest boy, That heaven is God's, and thou art there, With him in joy ; There past are death and all its woes ; There beauty's stream...
145. oldal - I may, go where I will, Thou meet'st my sight ; There dost thou glide before me still — A form of light ! I feel thy breath upon my cheek, I see thee smile, I hear thee speak, Till oh ! my heart is like to break, Casa Wappy ! Methinks, thou smil'st before me now, With glance of stealth ; The hair thrown back from thy full brow In buoyant health: I see thine eyes...
350. oldal - TELL me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; " Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

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