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106. oldal - Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie : His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
97. oldal - Woe is me, my mother, that thou hast borne me a man of strife and a man of contention to the whole earth ! I have neither lent on usury, nor men have lent to me on usury; yet every one of them doth curse me.
241. oldal - I've been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world ! I'm going home. Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth's averted eye; To supple Office, low and high ; To crowded halls, to court and street ; To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; To those who go, and those who come ; Good-bye, proud world ! I'm going home.
13. oldal - With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
117. oldal - Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee; Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. See nations slowly wise, and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
101. oldal - Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God afraid of me: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, Yet touched and shamed by ridicule alone.
118. oldal - Wealth, my lad, was made to wander, Let it wander as it will ; Call the jockey, call the pander, Bid them come and take their fill. When the bonny blade carouses, Pockets full, and spirits high — What are acres ? what are houses ? Only dirt, or wet or dry. Should the guardian friend or mother Tell the woes of wilful waste : Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother, — You can hang or drown at last.
9. oldal - HOW soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
265. oldal - Oxford to him a dearer name shall be Than his own mother-university; Thebes did his rude unknowing youth engage; He chooses Athens in his riper age.
197. oldal - No past event has any intrinsic importance. The knowledge of it is valuable only as it leads us to form just calculations with respect to the future.

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