The Novels of Lord Lytton: Pelham. Falkland

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Page 305 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Page 23 - Shall I wasting in Despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the Day, Or the Flowery Meads in May; If she be not so to me, What care I, how fair she be.
Page 284 - Oh ! would that I could claim exemption From all the bitterness of that sweet name. I loved, I love, and when I love no more Let joys and grief perish...
Page 23 - Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier.
Page 278 - His minutes whilst they're told Do make us old; And every sand of his fleet glass, Increasing age as it doth pass, Insensibly sows wrinkles there Where flowers and roses do appear. Whilst we do speak, our fire Doth into ice expire; Flames turn to frost, And ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Or how a silver snow Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.
Page vi - Do you remember the summer days, which seemed to me so short, when you repeated to me those old ballads with which Percy revived the decaying spirit of our national muse, or the smooth couplets of Pope, or those gentle and polished verses with the composition of which you had beguiled your own earlier leisure ? It was those easy lessons, far more than the harsher rudiments learned subsequently in schools, that taught me to admire and to imitate...
Page 241 - THERE was a youth, who, as with toil and travel Had grown quite weak and gray before his time Nor any could the restless griefs unravel Which burned within him, withering up his prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. Not his the load of any secret crime, For nought of ill his heart could understand, But pity and wild sorrow for the same ; Not his the...
Page 21 - He looked a lion with a gloomy stare, And o'er his eyebrows hung his matted hair ; Big-boned, and large of limbs, with sinews strong, Broad-shouldered, and his arms were round and long.
Page 237 - He who esteems trifles for themselves, is a trifler— he who esteems them for the conclusions to be drawn from them, or the advantage to which they can be put is a philosopher.
Page 294 - Glories Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams And shadows soon decaying : on the stage Of my mortality my youth hath acted Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length ; By varied pleasures sweetened in the mixture, But tragical in issue.

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