George Crabbe's Poetical Works: Preface to the Tales. Life

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T. Y. Crowell, 1877 - 523 pages
 

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Page 226 - As you who praise would never deign to touch. Ye gentle souls, who dream of rural ease, Whom the smooth stream and smoother sonnet please ; Go ! if the peaceful cot your praises share, Go look within, and ask if peace be there ; If peace be his — that drooping weary sire, Or theirs, that offspring round their feeble fire ; Or hers, that matron pale, whose trembling hand Turns on the wretched hearth th...
Page 128 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!
Page 188 - A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none, on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy ! — I see the business.
Page 476 - But I have griefs of other kind, Troubles and sorrows more severe ; Give me to ease my tortured mind, Lend to my woes a patient ear ; And let me — if I may not find A friend to help — find one to hear.
Page 227 - Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes, Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose ; Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance With timid eye to read the distant glance ; Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease, To name the nameless ever-new disease...
Page 228 - With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go, He bids the gazing throng around him fly, And carries fate and physic in his eye...
Page 280 - I feel his absence in the hours of prayer, And view his seat and sigh for Isaac there : I see no more those white locks thinly spread Round the bald polish of that...
Page 303 - Apart, she sigh'd; alone, she shed the tear; Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. One day he lighter seem'd, and they forgot The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot; They spoke with cheerfulness, and seem'd to think, Yet said not so — 'Perhaps he will not sink'.
Page 267 - Lo! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black, And torn green gown loose hanging at her back, One who an infant in her arms sustains, And seems in patience striving with her pains...
Page 451 - Books cannot always please, however good ; Minds are not ever craving for their food ; But sleep will soon the weary soul prepare For cares to-morrow that were this day's care : For forms, for feasts, that sundry times have pasty And formal feasts that will for ever last.

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