The Linesman: Or, Service in the Guards and the Line During England's Long Peace and Little Wars, Volume 1

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Page 232 - To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i...
Page 244 - No radiant pearl, which crested fortune wears, No gem, that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears, Nor the bright stars, which night's blue arch adorn, Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn, Shine with such lustre, as the tear that breaks, For others' wo, down Virtue's manly cheeks.
Page 93 - Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school...
Page 401 - But he never would believe that Providence had sent a few men into the world ready booted and spurred to ride, and millions ready saddled and bridled to be ridden.
Page 1 - Those recollected hours that have the charm Of visionary things, those lovely forms And sweet sensations that throw back our life, And almost make remotest infancy A visible scene, on which the sun is shining?
Page 381 - Everywhere there is a class of men who cling with fondness to whatever is ancient, and who, even when convinced by overpowering reasons that innovation would be beneficial, consent to it with many misgivings and forebodings. We find, also, everywhere another class of men, sanguine in hope, bold in speculation, always pressing forward, quick to discern the imperfections of whatever exists, disposed to think lightly of the risks...
Page 308 - The air of that sweet Indian land, Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads O'er coral rocks, and amber beds ; Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; Whose rivulets are like rich brides, Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice Might be a Peri's Paradise...
Page 284 - A few short hours, and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate.
Page 211 - Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
Page 83 - And should his steed with trampling feet Be urged across your tender wheat, That steed perchance by you was bred, And yours the corn by which he's fed. Ah ' then restrain your rising ire, Nor rashly curse the hunting squire.

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