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50 cents 75 cents amid appear beautiful believe better blockhead Calvert Vaux Charlotte Brontë cheerful church clergyman clever Cloth coming cottage delight diary dignified doubt dull dwelling enjoy enjoyment entirely essay fact fancy feel fellow felt Fraser's Magazine garden Gelimer George Stephenson give Gothic Gothic archi Gothic architecture green grow old happy heart horses hour human hundred interest kindly labour lady leisure light live look Lord Chancellor Lord Melbourne matter mental mind moral morning Nathaniel Hawthorne nature never noble once painful parish petty trickery pigsty play pleasant pleasing pleasure POEMS poor putting things quiet reader recreation remember scene sense sermon stupid sure Sydney Smith talk taste tell thoroughbred thought tidiness tion town trees truth turn 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 128 - There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
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 412 - Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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 295 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
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.