The Friend

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William Pickering, 1837
 

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Seite 197 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years...
Seite 198 - Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Seite 121 - Madam, I swear, I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure ; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, That we find out the cause of this effect ; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect, defective, comes by cause: Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
Seite 197 - O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive...
Seite 253 - But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired...
Seite 198 - Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea, Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Seite 142 - Or sympathy, or some connatural force, Powerful at greatest distance to unite, With secret amity, things of like kind, By secretest conveyance.
Seite 184 - Pharaoh, The days of the years of my pilgrimage are an hundred and thirty years ; few and evil have the days of the years of my life been...
Seite 121 - I will be brief: your noble son is mad: Mad call I it ; for, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad ? But let that go.
Seite 112 - Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor— thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife.