Rambles about Morley: With Descriptive and Historical Sketches : Also, an Account of the Rise and Progress of the Woollen Manufacture in this Place ...

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J.R. Smith, 1866 - 204 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 120 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Pàgina 103 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
Pàgina 125 - REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them...
Pàgina 156 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Pàgina 84 - The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Pàgina 118 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew : 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too : Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge...
Pàgina 13 - TIME rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! How few, all weak and withered of their force, Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Pàgina 84 - Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.
Pàgina 95 - Will make it but burn up the higher; If so, my friend, pray let her take A second turn into the lake, And, rather than your patience lose, Thrice and again repeat the dose. No brawling wives, no furious wenches, No fire so hot, but water quenches.
Pàgina 134 - My son, fear thou the LORD and the king : and meddle not with them that are given to change...

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