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amid appear beau ideal beautiful believe better blockhead Calvert Vaux Charlotte Brontë cheerful church clergyman clever coming cottage country house delight diary dignified doubt dull dwelling enjoy enjoyment entirely essay evergreens evil fact fancy feel fellow felt Fraser's Magazine garden Gelimer give Gothic Gothic archi Gothic architecture green grow old happy heart horse hour human hundred interest kindly labour lady leisure light live look Lord Chancellor Lord Melbourne matter mental mind moral morning mortification nature never noble once painful parish person petty trickery pigsty play pleasant pleasing pleasure poor preach putting things quiet reader recreation remember scene sense sermon stupid sure Sydney Smith talk taste tell thoroughbred thought tidiness tion town trees truth turn ugly Vanity Fair Verjuice walk worries write wrong young youth
Page 174 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 110 - tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your Teacher.
Page 119 - See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Page 132 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Page 11 - Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.
Page 226 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Page 187 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Page 329 - O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest — Ps.
Page 122 - And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.