Memorials of Bygone Manchester: With Glimpses of the Environs

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Palmer and Howe, 1880 - 396 páginas

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Página 312 - There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Página 187 - Man cannot stand beneath a loftier dome Than this cerulean canopy of light — The ETERNAL'S vast, immeasurable home, Lovely by day, and wonderful by night ! Than this enamelled floor, so greenly bright, A richer pavement man hath never trod ; He cannot gaze upon a holier sight Than fleeting cloud, fresh wave, and fruitfxil sod — Leaves of that boundless Book, writ by the hand of God...
Página 16 - The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched sky Looked pure as the Spirit that made it : The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed On the shadowy waves...
Página xiii - He that followeth after righteousness and mercy findeth life, righteousness, and honour. 22 A wise man scaleth the city of the mighty, and casteth down the strength of the confidence thereof.
Página 186 - Tis morn, but yet the full and cloudless moon Pours from her starry urn a chastened light ; •Tis but a little space beyond the noon — The still, delicious noon of Summer's night ; Forth from my home I take an early flight, Down the lone vale pursue my devious way, Bound o'er the meadows with a keen delight, Brush from the forest leaves the dewy spray, And scale the toilsome steep, to watch the kindling day. The lark is up, disdainful of the earth, Exulting in his airy realm on high ; His song,...
Página 160 - Oh, Sir ! the good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket.
Página 330 - ... firing at me, charged me with his bayonet, but he very soon lost the combat ; for I parried it, and cut him down through the head ; and that finished the contest for the eagle.
Página 183 - sa warning That only serves to make us grieve, When we are old: That only serves to make us grieve...
Página 16 - All hushed was the billows' commotion, And o'er them the light-house looked lovely as hope — That star of life's tremulous ocean. The time is long past, and the scene is afar, Yet when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star, That blazed on the breast of the billow : In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, And death stills the heart's last emotion ; Oh, then may the seraph of mercy arise, Like a star on eternity's ocean ! THOMAS MOORE.
Página 329 - I took the Eagle from the Enemy ; he and I had a hard contest for it ; he thrust for my groin— I parried it off, and cut him through the head ; after which I was attacked by one of their lancers, who threw his lance at me, but missed the mark, by my throwing it off with my sword by my right side ; then I cut him from the chin upwards, which...

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