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Стр. 179 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Стр. 58 - Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune : Could love and could hate, so was thought somewhat odd ; No very great wit ;— he believed in a God. A post or a pension he did not desire, But left Church and State to Charles Townshend and Squire.
Стр. 79 - Yet Michael the archangel, when contending with the devil he disputed about the body of Moses, durst not bring against him a railing accusation, but said, The Lord rebuke thee.
Стр. 169 - Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
Стр. 172 - By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air!
Стр. 164 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Стр. 53 - I, that have borne a bag, be not now in my age forced in effect to bear a wallet; nor I, that desire to live to study, may not be driven to study to live.
Стр. 22 - Dashington ; a youth excelling In all the learning commonly provided For those who choose that classic station For finishing their education. That is — he understood computing The odds at any race or match ; Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting ; Could kick up rows, knock down the watch, Play truant and the rake at random, Drink, tie cravats, and drive a tandem.
Стр. 140 - Gone to salute the rising morn. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Стр. 140 - Fell thirst and famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.

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