Allanston, Or the Infidel: A Novel in Three Volumes, 2 tomas

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Lady Georgiana Chatterton
T.C. Newby, 1844
 

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52 psl. - Dulled by distemper ; shall I say — by time ? Enough in action has my life been spent Through the past decade, to rebate the edge Of early sensibility. The sun Rides high, and on the thoroughfares of life I find myself a man- in middle age, Busy and hard to please. The sun shall soon Dip westerly, — but oh ! how little like Are life's two twilights ! Would the last were first And the first last ! that so we might be soothed Upon the thoroughfares of busy...
263 psl. - His hand had deigned to raise ; In silence, ere that storm begin, Count o'er His mercies and thy sin. Pray only that thine aching heart, From visions vain content to part, Strong for Love's sake its woe to hide, May cheerful wait the Cross beside, Too happy if, that dreadful day, Thy life be given thee for a prey...
117 psl. - Should shew, to set me up aloft, And straight my wealth for to deface, Should writhe away, as she doth oft, Yet would I still myself apply To serve and suffer patiently. There is no grief, no smart, no woe, That yet I feel, or after shall, That from this mind may make me go ; And whatsoever me befall, I do profess it willingly To serve and suffer patiently.
222 psl. - Tis echoed in the heart. It fills the Church of God ; it fills The sinful world around ; Only in stubborn hearts and wills No place for it is found. To other strains our souls are set : A giddy whirl of sin Fills ear and brain, and will not let Heaven's harmonies come in. Come Lord, come Wisdom, Love, and Power, Open our ears to hear ; Let us not miss th' accepted hour ; Save, Lord, by Love or Fear.
130 psl. - Not one of all my instincts I denied : Whate'er I saw I sought, and seeking gained; And rolled against the palate of my pride: That which the eye desired the hand attained: Each bar I dashed aside, each pleasure drained; And then flung proudly from me. I had sworn All triumphs to achieve, and then to scorn.
202 psl. - twas That modesty that took me, and preserves me, Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness ; Which, sullied with the touch of impure hands, Lows...
96 psl. - L'Angiol di Dio Quella parola che non vien dal core Nel suo libro non scrive, o scritta appena, La cancella col pianto. Teresa Oh ciel, che dici! Vorresti tu farmi proscritta, errante, Disonorata? Se ti prese oblio Delle virtù che amasti, in me rispetta Teresa Contarmi.
222 psl. - Cam. Nor to myself, but is a neighbour to Impossibility. True love should walk On equal feet ; in us it does not, sir : But rest assured, excepting this, I shall be Devoted to your service.

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