The Speaker, Volume 5

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Pearson Brothers, 1910
 

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Page 416 - NOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons...
Page 401 - Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,' Said then the lost Archangel, 'this the seat That we must change for Heaven, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be...
Page 425 - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance. And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix...
Page 210 - In speech - (which I have not) - to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, 'Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark...
Page 417 - And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings...
Page 237 - This was the noblest Roman of them all : All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, " This was a man !
Page 443 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.
Page 209 - The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace, — all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech.
Page 424 - I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ;
Page 416 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground?

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