The Book of Nature, Volume 3

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Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 1826
 

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Page 51 - For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts ; even one thing befalleth them : as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath ; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast : for all is vanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.
Page 365 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
Page 258 - Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Page 326 - She call'd on Echo still through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close: And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair...
Page 321 - O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ; All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics
Page 230 - HAPPINESS ! our being's end and aim ! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content ! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die...
Page 390 - Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters, without any ideas; how comes it to be furnished? Whence comes it by that vast store, which the busy and boundless fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless variety?
Page 320 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 258 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend.
Page 280 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his...

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