My Windows on the Street of the World, Volume 1

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J.M. Dent & sons, limited, 1923 - 452 pages
 

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Page 117 - Sometimes, with secure delight, The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the chequered shade...
Page 295 - FOIL'D by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn, We leave the brutal world to take its way, And, Patience ! in another life, we say, The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world's poor, routed leavings ? or will they, Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day, Support the fervours of the heavenly morn ? No, no ! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun ; And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife, From strength...
Page 117 - 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 33 - In boyhood itself, however (so much less dreaded for me than youth), I loved not study, and hated to be forced to it. Yet I was forced; and this was well done towards me, but I did not well; for, unless forced, I had not learnt But no one doth well against his will, even though what he doth, be well.
Page 95 - Whoso beset him round With dismal stories, Do but themselves confound, His strength the more is. No lion can him fright ; He'll with a giant fight, But he will have a right To...
Page 95 - Who would true valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather. There 's no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avow'd intent To be a Pilgrim.
Page 364 - Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, And the wildest tales are true, And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, And life runs large on the Long Trail — the trail that is always new.
Page 163 - ... a lie ; If any man more can dote or adore, With so tender a care, I make it my prayer, My prayer and my wish, to be stewed in a dish ; To be sliced and slashed, minced and hashed ; And the offal remains that are left by the cook, Dragged out to the grave, with my own flesh-hook.
Page 127 - Reports by the Juries on the Subjects in the Thirty Classes into which the Exhibition was divided. Royal 8° 1852. International Exhibition, 1862. Jurors
Page 23 - Hearing St. Nicholas' bells ring out the chimes, Yet never see those proud ones swaying home With mainyards backed and bows a cream of foam, Those bows so lovely-curving, cut so fine, Those coulters of the many-bubbled brine, As once, long since, when all the docks were filled With that sea-beauty man has ceased to build. Yet, though their...

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