Kottabos: College Miscellany, Volume 3, Issue 1

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Page 232 - AND after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.
Page 282 - Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Page 230 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school : A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he...
Page 224 - Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
Page 106 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ;' Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Page 12 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes...
Page 230 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault...
Page 184 - Under the opening eye-lids of the Morn, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn...
Page 316 - Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow : Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.
Page 251 - But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

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