Ballads of Books

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Brander Matthews
G. J. Coombes, 1886 - 174 страници
 

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Страница 128 - 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.
Страница 128 - With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
Страница 117 - Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind 'away: O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!— But soft!
Страница 154 - And last, of vulgar tribes a countless crowd. First, let us view the form, the size, the dress; For these the manners, nay the mind, express: That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid; Those ample clasps, of solid metal made; The close-press'd leaves, unclosed for many an age; The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page; On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll'd, Where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold...
Страница 120 - As one who, destined from his friends to part, Regrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile To share their converse and enjoy their smile, And tempers as he may affliction's dart...
Страница 20 - To lend, thus lose, their books, Are snared by anglers — folks that fish With literary hooks. Who call and take some favorite tome, But never read it through ; They thus complete their set at home By making one at you. I, of my " Spenser " quite bereft, Last winter sore was shaken ; Of " Lamb " I've but a quarter left, Nor could I save my " Bacon ;" And then I saw my " Crabbe " at last, Like Hamlet, backward go, And, as the tide was ebbing fast, Of course I lost my
Страница 26 - SPEAK low—tread softly through these halls; Here Genius lives enshrined ; Here reign, in silent majesty, The monarchs of the mind. A mighty spirit-host they come, From every age and clime; Above the buried wrecks of years, They breast the tide of Time.
Страница 43 - Not as ours the books of old — Things that steam can stamp and fold ; Not as ours the books of yore — Rows of type, and nothing more. Then a book was still a Book, Where a wistful man might look, Finding something through the whole, Beating. — like a human soul...
Страница 151 - Mild opiates here their sober influence shed. Now bid thy soul man's busy scenes exclude, And view composed this silent multitude : — Silent they are, but though deprived of sound, Here all the living languages abound ; Here all that live no more ; preserved they lie, In tombs that open to the curious eye. Blest be the gracious power who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image of the mind ! — Beasts may convey and tuneful birds may sing Their mutual feelings in the opening spring ; But man alone...
Страница 110 - SILENT companions of the lonely hour, Friends who can never alter or forsake, Who for inconstant roving have no power, And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take — Let me return to you, this turmoil ending, Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought, And, o'er your old familiar pages bending, Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought...

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