The Deserted Village, The Traveller, and Other Poems

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1894 - 96 pages
 

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Page 91 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he...
Page 75 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote...
Page 20 - The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove : These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, With sweet succession taught e'en toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, — • These were thy charms, but all these charms are fled. Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn...
Page 21 - A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man: For him light Labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more; His best companions, innocence and health, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
Page 21 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Page 14 - She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Page 23 - Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return — and die at home at last.
Page 22 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Page 76 - Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Page 27 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault...

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