The Poetical Works of Robert Southey: With a Memoir of the Author, Volumen2

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Little, Brown, 1809
 

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Página 260 - Two things have I required of thee ; deny me them not before I die: remove far from me vanity and lies: give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, "Who is the Lord?" or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.
Página 250 - Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
Página 193 - So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng ; So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they ; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the Holly Tree.
Página 172 - You are old, Father William," the young man cried. ' ' And pleasures with youth pass away ; And yet you lament not the days that are gone ; Now tell me the reason, I pray.
Página 159 - Go thou and seek the house of prayer ! I to the woodlands bend my way, And meet religion there. She needs not haunt the high-arched dome to pray Where storied windows dim the doubtful day: With liberty she loves to rove...
Página 192 - And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
Página 180 - I thee, thou busy, busy Bee. Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Late and early at employ ; Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent What thy winter will never enjoy ; Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee ! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee ! What is the end of thy toil.
Página 194 - The unlabour'd boat falls rapidly along ; The solitary helmsman sits to guide, And sings an idle song. Now o'er the rocks that lay So silent late the shallow current roars ; Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way, Through wider-spreading shores.
Página 51 - Bang of England ! Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, — Deprived of every privilege of man ? Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us...
Página 235 - Where crimes and miseries, each producing each, Render life loathsome, and destroy the hope That should in death bring comfort. Oh, my friend, That thy faith were as mine ! that thou couldst see Death still producing life, and evil still Working its own destruction ! couldst behold The strifes and...

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