Loading...
Search, filter, and discover the perfect illustration for your sermon
Free to browse · Sign up free to unlock most illustrations · Premium ($9.95/mo) for the full library of 50,000+ illustrations
Dearest, best and brightest, Come away, To the woods and to the fields! Dearer than this fairest day Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle in the brake.
THERE was a child went forth every day; And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became; And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
SATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE IMITATED.
FINTRY, my stay in wordly strife, Friend o’ my muse, friend o’ my life, Are ye as idle’s I am? Come then, wi’ uncouth kintra fleg, O’er Pegasus I’ll fling my leg, And ye shall see me try him.
1 MANHATTAN’S streets I saunter’d, pondering, On time, space, reality—on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. 2 After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence; Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that suits immortality.
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews--sons mine ... ah God, I know not! Well, She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
This verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse This from no venal or ungrateful Muse.
APRILL: Ægloga QuartaTHENOT & HOBBINOLL Tell me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes ytorne? Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete? Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?
Hiawatha's Wooing "As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman, Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other!" Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within...
"Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico."--HORACE.
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear.
PART FIRST. 'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But, of the two, less dangerous is the offence To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen, That was the king Priamus sone of Troye, In lovinge, how his aventures fellen Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye, My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred, And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound Of leaves...
Pallas te hoc Vulnere Pallas Immolat et poenam scelerato ex Sanguine Sumit.
Still must I hear?--shall hoarse FITZGERALD bawl His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my _Muse?_ Prepare for rhyme--I'll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my...
"Heigho!" yawned one day King Francis, "Distance all value enhances. When a man's busy, why, leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy. Here we've got peace; and aghast...
(In memoriam C. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M.
A DIALOGUE.
Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew! My strains were never meant for you; Remorseless Rancour still reveal, And damn the verse you cannot feel.
'The good die first, And those whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket!' Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood!
MY lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne’er assails in vain; Embolden’d thus, I beg you’ll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus’ scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, And drink my crystal tide.
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC. 'Choose Reform or Civil War, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, A CONSORT-QUEEN shall hunt a king with hogs, Riding on the IONIAN MINOTAUR.' SCENE.--THEBES. SCENE 1.1.--A MAGNIFICENT TEMPLE, BUILT OF THIGH-BONES...
YE Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires, Wha represent our brughs an’ shires, An’ doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet’s pray’rs Are humbly sent. my roupit Muse is hearse!