Oxford, a poem. (Poetical works of R. Montgomery).

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Page 109 - But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.
Page 139 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 111 - Papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to us again.
Page 131 - ... (for the which cause he gave attendance), as one in such sorrow not well advised what he did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he clean covered him, which made the fire more vehement beneath, that it burned clean all his nether parts, before it once touched the upper, and that made him leap up and down under the faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come unto him, saying, 'I cannot burn.
Page 152 - That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long, But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his song...
Page 77 - But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
Page 112 - A poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently great to attract much attention ; his real merits are known but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. When his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to investigate the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews of morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase by the meridian splendor.
Page 162 - It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance ; Like hues and harmonies of evening. Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like memory of music fled, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
Page 130 - Be of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in England, as, I trust, shall never be put out.
Page 145 - Critics too. The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails, From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales. With him, most authors steal their works, or buy 5 Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

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