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Page 99 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 103 - Historici veteres, Pompeius, Plinius, ipse Acer Aristoteles, rhetor quoque Tullius ingens. Quid quoque Sedulius, vel quid canit ipse Juvencus, Alcimus et Clemens, Prosper, Paulinus, Arator, Quid Fortunatus, vel quid Lactantius edunt.
Page 449 - ... bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my...
Page 214 - HERE Man more purely lives, less oft doth fall, More promptly rises, walks with stricter heed, More safely rests, dies happier, is freed Earlier from cleansing fires and gains withal A brighter crown.
Page 190 - THE bark that held a prince went down, The sweeping waves rolled on ; And what was England's glorious crown To him that wept a son ? He lived — for life may long be borne Ere sorrow break its chain ; Why comes not death to those who mourn ? He never smiled again...
Page 256 - Speak to me ! Mighty grief Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me, but hear me ! — father, chief, My king, I must be heard ! Hushed, hushed, — how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not? When was it thus? Woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot! "Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright! And father, father ! but for me, They had not been so white ! I bore thee down, high heart, at last! No longer couldst thou strive. Oh, for one moment of the past, To kneel and say, — 'Forgive...
Page 211 - He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
Page 70 - To follow knowledge like a sinking star Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle — Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good.