Ballads of Books

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Brander Matthews
G. J. Coombes, 1886 - 174 oldal

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128. oldal - With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
128. oldal - My days among the Dead are past; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
117. oldal - Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind 'away: O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!— But soft!
120. oldal - As one who, destined from his friends to part, Regrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile To share their converse and enjoy their smile. And tempers as he may affliction's dart; Thus, loved associates, chiefs of elder art, Teachers of wisdom, who could once beguile My tedious hours, and lighten every toil, I now resign you; nor with fainting heart; For pass a few short years, or days, or hours, And happier seasons may their dawn unfold, And all your sacred fellowship restore: When, freed from earth,...
154. oldal - And last, of vulgar tribes a countless crowd. First, let us view the form, the size, the dress; For these the manners, nay the mind, express: That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid; Those ample clasps, of solid metal made; The close-press'd leaves, unclosed for many an age; The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page; On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll'd, Where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold...
20. oldal - To lend, thus lose, their books, Are snared by anglers — folks that fish With literary hooks. Who call and take some favorite tome, But never read it through ; They thus complete their set at home By making one at you. I, of my " Spenser " quite bereft, Last winter sore was shaken ; Of " Lamb " I've but a quarter left, Nor could I save my " Bacon ;" And then I saw my " Crabbe " at last, Like Hamlet, backward go, And, as the tide was ebbing fast, Of course I lost my
26. oldal - SPEAK low—tread softly through these halls; Here Genius lives enshrined ; Here reign, in silent majesty, The monarchs of the mind. A mighty spirit-host they come, From every age and clime; Above the buried wrecks of years, They breast the tide of Time.
110. oldal - SILENT companions of the lonely hour, Friends who can never alter or forsake, Who for inconstant roving have no power, And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take — Let me return to you, this turmoil ending, Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought, And, o'er your old familiar pages bending, Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought...
ix. oldal - One gift the Fairies gave me : ( Three They commonly bestowed of yore) The Love of Books, the Golden Key That opens the Enchanted Door...
40. oldal - MY BOOKS. THEY dwell in the odor of camphor, They stand in a Sheraton shrine, They are "warranted early editions...

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