La Belle Assemblée, Volume 3

Couverture
J. Bell, 1807
 

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Page 107 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Page 217 - Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?' Surely the soul of the hero rejoices And rides on the wind o'er his own highland vale...
Page 159 - On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow, Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye : O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 1 surge, deep sea.
Page 3 - Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
Page 106 - O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the...
Page 239 - He that questioneth much shall learn much, and content much; but especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom he asketh ; for he shall give them occasion to please themselves in speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge. But let his questions not be troublesome, for that is fit for a poser ; and let him be sure to leave other men their turns to speak.
Page 107 - Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; — I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
Page 112 - I'd have you remember that when poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window.
Page 158 - His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
Page 335 - You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

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