The English Annual, for ..., Volume 3

E. Churton, 1836
Contents of issues for 1836-38 are reprinted from a popular periodical.

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Page 132 - Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; Thy mount, to which the Dryads do resort, Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade, That taller tree, which of a nut was set At his great birth, where all the Muses met.
Page 180 - All the traditional accounts of him, the historians of the last age, and its best authors, represent him as the most incorrupt lawyer, and the honestest statesman, as a master orator, a genius of the finest taste, and as a patriot of the noblest and most extensive views ; as a man, who dispensed blessings by his life, and planned them for posterity.
Page 1 - And he changed his behaviour before them, and feigned himself mad in their hands, and scrabbled on the doors of the gate, and let his spittle fall down upon his beard.
Page 135 - Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare, Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought : Band of all evils ; cradle of causeless care ; Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought : Desire ! Desire ! I have too dearly bought, With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware ; Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought, Who should my mind to higher things prepare.
Page 221 - Full oft within the spacious walls, When he had fifty winters o'er him, My grave Lord-Keeper led the brawls ; The seals and maces danced before him. •> His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, His high-crowned hat, and satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's queen, Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.
Page 137 - EPITAPH. ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : Death, ere thou hast slain another, Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Page 221 - IN Britain's isle, no matter where, An ancient pile of building stands : "The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employed the power of fairy hands To raise the ceiling's fretted height, Each panel in achievements clothing, Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages that lead to nothing.
Page 219 - She that pinches country wenches, If they rub not clean their benches, And with sharper nails remembers When they rake not up their embers: But if so they chance to feast her, In a shoe she drops a tester.
Page 358 - NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS. CHILDREN of night ! unfolding meekly, slowly To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, When dark-blue heavens look softest and most holy, And glow-worm light is in the forest bowers ; To solemn things and deep, To spirit-haunted sleep, To thoughts, all purified From earth, ye seem allied ; O dedicated flowers! Ye, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling, Keep in dim vestal urns the sweetness shrined : Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing, Looks on you tenderly...

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