The autumn holidays of a country parson, by the author of 'The recreations of a country parson'.

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Page 297 - WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
Page 273 - The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Page 309 - A servant with this clause makes drudgery divine; who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, makes that and the action fine.
Page 296 - And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.
Page 219 - And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.
Page 92 - It was. — Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern.
Page 286 - ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise ; I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.
Page 145 - But ye know the proof of him, that, as a son with the father, he hath served with me in the gospel. Him therefore I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it will go with me. But I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly.
Page 308 - To scorn the senses' sway, While still to thee I tend ; In all I do, be thou the way, In all be thou the end.
Page 201 - He roved among the vales and streams, In the green wood and hollow dell ; They were his dwellings night and day, But Nature ne'er could find the way Into the heart of Peter Bell. In vain, through every changeful year, Did Nature lead him as before; A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more.

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