Sandoval; or The Free-mason, by the author of 'Don Esteban'.

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Página 92 - NAUGHT is there under heaven's wide hollowness That moves more dear compassion of the mind, Than beauty brought to unworthy wretchedness Through envy's snares, or fortune's freaks unkind. I, whether lately through her brightness blind, Or through allegiance and fast fealty, Which I do owe unto all womankind, Feel my heart pierced with so great agony When such I see, that all for pity I could die.
Página 143 - Here sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan, And the cold charities of man to man: Whose laws indeed for ruin'd Age provide, And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride ; But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh, And pride imbitters what it can't deny.
Página 297 - And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame The gods allow to many ; but to die With equal lustre is a blessing Heaven Selects from all the choicest boons of fate, And with a sparing hand on few bestows.
Página 114 - Old Error, thus, with shades impure Throws sacred Truth behind : Yet, sometimes, through the deep obscure She bursts upon the mind. Sleep, and her sister Silence reign, They lock the shepherd's fold ! But hark — I hear a lamb complain, 'Tis lost upon the wold ! To savage herds, that hunt for prey, An unresisting prize ! For having trod a devious way, The little rambler dies. As luckless is the Virgin's lot, Whom pleasure once misguides : When hurried from the halcyon cot, Where Innocence presides...
Página 330 - And nourishes her own consuming smart ? "What medicine can any leech's art Yield such a sore, that doth her grievance hide, And will to none her malady impart ? SJENSER.
Página 69 - How great a toil to stem the raging flood, When beauty stirs the mass of youthful blood...
Página 44 - Eolus in surly humor broke Their strict embrace, and thus abruptly spoke: Enough of compliment, I hate the sport Of meanless words : this is no human court ; Where plain and honest are discarded quite, For the more modish title of polite ; Where in soft speeches hypocrites impart The venom'd ills that lurk beneath the heart ; In friendship's holy guise their guilt improve, And kindly kill with specious show of love. For us — my subjects are not us'd to wait, And waste their hours to hear a mortal...
Página 222 - Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild, Where nothing polished dares pollute her path ; To me by day or night she ever smiled, Though I have marked her when none other hath, And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath.
Página 320 - PorUer's presence seemed to be under a kind of spell, read it accordingly, and the patriot chief heard it with the utmost composure, though when the fiscal came to that part of the sentence where the word

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