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Page 182 - My native country! thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills, .Like that above.
Page 62 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 192 - Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown.
Page 53 - Will bless it, and approve* it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
Page 54 - There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, ' I am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
Page 194 - Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth often die before us : and our minds represent to us those tombs to which we are approaching ; where though the brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away.
Page 65 - Put out the light, and then put out the light. If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
Page 61 - And reached that torrent's sounding shore* Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks, Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines On Bochastle the mouldering lines, Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.
Page 54 - Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him, then. lago. 0 sir, content you ; I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.
Page 71 - Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.