The Matchmaker: A Novel, Том 2

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Стр. 199 - Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double : Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?
Стр. 132 - For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute, No more.
Стр. 17 - One hates an author that's all author — fellows In foolscap uniforms turned up with ink, So very anxious, clever, fine, and jealous, One don't know what to say to them, or think...
Стр. 88 - Her lot is on you ! — to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain ! Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And, oh ! to love through all things — therefore pray.
Стр. 1 - For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne.
Стр. 236 - Four guardian virtues, round, support her throne: Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears: Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake Who hunger and who thirst for scribbling sake: Prudence, whose glass presents th...
Стр. 5 - Which time corrupts not, falsehood cannot hide, Nor folly scorn, nor calumny deride. And 'what is writ, is writ!' — the guilt and shame, All eyes have seen them, and all lips may blame; Where is the record of the wrong that stung, The charm that tempted, and the grief that wrung ? Let feeble hands, iniquitously just, Rake up the reliques of the sinful dust, Let Ignorance mock the pang it cannot feel, And Malice brand, what Mercy would conceal; It matters not!
Стр. 190 - Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate; Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again, To bear is to conquer our fate THE LAST MAN.
Стр. 269 - MY birth-day" — what a different sound That word had in my youthful ears ! And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears ! When first our scanty years are told, It seems like pastime to grow old ; And, as Youth counts the shining links. That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said* — "were he ordain'd to run " His long career of life again, . " He...
Стр. 7 - Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust The fair-haired Daughter of the Isles is laid, The love of millions...

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