An Arrangement of British Plants: According to the Latest Improvements of the Linnean System, Volumen2

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C. J. G. and F. Rivington, 1830
 

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Página 253 - O READER ! hast thou ever stood to see The holly tree ? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves Ordered by an intelligence so wise, As might confound the atheist's sophistries. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen ; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound ; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.
Página 411 - We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Página 366 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Página 328 - The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Página 80 - In a farm-yard near the middle of this village stands at this day, a row of pollard-ashes, which, by the seams and long cicatrices down their sides, manifestly show that in former times they have been cleft asunder. These trees, when young and flexible, were severed and held open by wedges, while ruptured children, stripped naked, were pushed through the apertures, under a persuasion that, by such a process, the poor babes would be cured of their infirmity.
Página 528 - But nature makes that mean : so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race : this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
Página 336 - Hast thou seen in winter's stormiest day The trunk of a blighted oak, Not dead, but sinking in slow decay, Beneath time's resistless stroke, Round which a luxuriant Ivy...
Página 473 - Oft hast thou decked, a favourite flower. Flower of the wild ! whose purple glow Adorns the dusky mountain's side, Not the gay hues of Iris' bow, Nor garden's artful varied pride, With all its wealth of sweets could cheer, Like thee, the hardy mountaineer. Flower of his heart!
Página 247 - Let fortune's gifts at random flee, They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, Supremely blest wi' love and thee, In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

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