Oliver Goldsmith

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Longmans, 1903 - 296 strani
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Stran 9 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay — There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school.
Stran 111 - I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated.
Stran 176 - Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew — I still had hopes — my long vexations past, Here to return, and die at home at last.
Stran 8 - His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain.
Stran 266 - Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, .He has not left a wiser or better behind : His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still bom to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
Stran 207 - Mr. Mickle, the translator of The Lusiad, and I went to visit him at this place a few days afterwards. He was not at home ; but having a curiosity to see his apartment, we went in and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil.
Stran 111 - The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Stran 24 - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee : Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Stran 177 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate: But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Stran 125 - She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me. When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.

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