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Page 234 - But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
Page 30 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear • Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans.
Page 243 - He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life!
Page 79 - This is the curse of life ! that not A nobler, calmer train Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot Our passions from our brain ; But each day brings its petty dust Our soon-choked souls to fill, And we forget because we must And not because we will.
Page 42 - There are tones that will haunt us, though lonely Our path be o'er mountain or sea ; There are looks that will part from us only When memory ceases to be...
Page 1 - Thus argued into hopes, my thoughts reserved No place for grief or fear; Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place, And made her youth and fierceness seek Thy face. At first Thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses; I had my wish and way: My days were strew'd with flowers and happiness; There was no month but May.
Page 12 - For passion to reveal. Her being's law is gentle bliss, Her purpose, and her duty ; And quiet joy her loveliness, And gay delight her beauty. Then let her walk in mirthful pride, Dispensing joy and sadness, By her light spirit fortified In panoply of gladness. The joy she gives shall still be her's, The sorrow shall be mine ; Such debt the earthly heart incurs That pants for the divine.
Page 65 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Page 111 - Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! ENDYMION.