The curate and his lodger. The death of the broken-hearted. The forager of Flintshire. Alice Denby

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A.K. Newman, 1831
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الصفحة 238 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
الصفحة 114 - Boon Nature scattered, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; The primrose pale and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower...
الصفحة 195 - It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
الصفحة 243 - And, in short, let it become the political religion of the nation; and let the old and the young, the rich and the poor, the grave and the gay of all sexes and tongues and colors and conditions, sacrifice unceasingly upon its altars.
الصفحة 242 - ... of the night, And leave but a desert behind. Be hush'd, my dark spirit ! for wisdom condemns When the faint and the feeble deplore ; Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems A thousand wild waves on the shore ! Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate ! Yea ! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again : To bear is to conquer our fate.
الصفحة 219 - And in the visions of romantic youth, What years of endless bliss are yet to flow ? But, mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth ? The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below ! And must I change my song?
الصفحة 236 - Silent, though fond, who cast my life away, Daring to disobey The passionate Spirit that around me clung. Farewell again ! — and yet Must it indeed be so ? — and on this shore Shall you and I no more Together see the sun of...
الصفحة 113 - WHEN the last sunshine of expiring day In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes While nature makes that melancholy pause, Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime.
الصفحة 138 - ... stronger and greater than it was before; his answer was, he had good reason for the same ; because the country was wild, and he might be oppressed by his enemies on the suddaine, in that wooddie countrey ; it therefore stood him in a policie to have diverse places of retreat.
الصفحة 46 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A Violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.

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