The Nabob at Home; Or, The Return to England

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Seite 14 - Upon her face there was the tint of grief, The settled shadow of an inward strife, And an unquiet drooping of the eye, As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
Seite 195 - The quality of mercy is not strained, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes...
Seite 173 - Th' ascending pile Stood fixed her stately height, and straight the doors, Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide Within, her ample spaces o'er the smooth And level pavement: from the arched roof, Pendent by subtle magic, many a row Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed With naptha and asphaltus, yielded light As from a sky.
Seite 52 - O ! wonder ! How many goodly creatures are there here ! How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, That has such people in't ! Pro.
Seite 221 - Take care my gates be open, bid all welcome ; All who rejoice with me to-day are friends : Let each indulge his genius, each be glad, Jocund and free, and swell the feast with mirth : The sprightly bowl shall cheerfully go round ; None shall be grave nor too severely wise; Losses and disappointments, cares and poverty, The rich man's insolence, and great man's scorn, In wine shall be forgotten all. To-morrow Will be too soon to think, and to be wretched.
Seite 159 - The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal; every other affliction to forget ; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open, this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.
Seite 93 - Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child...
Seite 251 - Returning he proclaims by many a grace, By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, How much a dunce that has been sent to roam Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
Seite 159 - ... the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection...

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