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Seite 221 - Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Seite 221 - O NIGHTINGALE that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For...
Seite 71 - I protest that if some great Power would agree to make me always think what is true and do what is right, on condition of being turned into a sort of clock and wound up every morning before I got out of bed, I should instantly close with the offer.
Seite 182 - Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheke, Hated not learning worse than toad or asp, When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward, Greek.
Seite 145 - Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious...
Seite 73 - Flumina amem silvasque inglorius. O ubi campi Spercheosque et virginibus bacchata Lacaenis Taygeta ! o qui me gelidis in vallibus Haemi Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra ! Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 490 Subjecit pedibus strepitumque Acherontis avari.
Seite 76 - a swarm in May is worth a load of hay ; a swarm in June is worth a silver spoon ; but a swarm in July is not worth a fly...
Seite 138 - DÉJÀ plus d'une feuille sèche Parsème les gazons jaunis ; Soir et matin, la brise est fraîche, Hélas! les beaux jours sont finis!
Seite 189 - As for us the Ancients, we are content with the bee to pretend to nothing of our own, beyond our wings and our voice; that is to say, our flights and our language. For the rest, whatever we have got, has been by infinite labour and search, and ranging through every corner of nature. The difference is, that instead of dirt and poison, we have rather chose to fill our hives with honey and wax ; thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest of things, which are, sweetness and light.