"1745.": A Tale

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James Nisbet and Company, 1859 - 158 pages

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Page 76 - Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.
Page 18 - For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving: For it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer.
Page 147 - Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, and fondly broods with miser care ; time but the impression deeper makes, as streams their channels deeper wear.
Page 58 - A quell' amico rivo, Da cui riceve umor. Per lui di frondi ornato Bella mercè gli rende, Quando dal Sol difende 11 suo beuefattor. [Parte. SCENA VI SILVIA sola Che fu mai quel ch' io vidi ? Un uom non è ; gli si vedrebbe in volto La ferocia dell
Page 158 - Forget me not, when others gaze Enamour'd on thee with the looks of praise ; When weary leagues between us both are cast, And each dull hour seems heavier than the last — Oh ! then forget me not ! 2.
Page 54 - It is not victory to win the field, Unless we make our enemies to yield More to our justice, than our force ; and so As well instruct, as overcome our foe.
Page 60 - Think we or think we not, time hurries on With a resistless unremitting stream, Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief That slides his hand under the miser's pillow And carries off his prize. What is this world ? What but a spacious burial-field unwalled Strewed with death's spoils, the spoils of animals Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones.
Page 134 - Look forward what's to come, and back what's past, Thy life will be with praise and prudence graced: What loss or gain may follow, thou may'st guess, Thou then wilt be secure of the success...
Page 20 - Tis enough that I can say, I possess myself to-day — Glitt'ring stones and golden things, Wealth and honor, that have wings, Ever flutt'ring to be gone, I could never call my own. Riches that the world bestows...
Page 9 - It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still, It was not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill; But that continuous sweetness, which with ease Pleases all round it, from the wish to please, — This was the charm that Lucy's smile bestowed; The waves' fresh ripple from deep fountains flowed; Below exhaustless gratitude, — above, Woman's meek temper — childhood's ready love.

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