The curate of Overton, Volume 1

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Hurst and Blackett, 1854

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Page 248 - And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart Be resolute and calm. O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.
Page 11 - As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, The maid was on the eve of womanhood; The boy had fewer summers, but his heart Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him...
Page 283 - And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love ; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day ; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.
Page 205 - More especially we pray for the good estate of the Catholic Church : that it may be so guided and governed hy Thy good Spirit, that all who profess and call themselves Christians, may be led into the way of truth, and hold the faith in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life ; and this we beg for Jesus Christ His sake.
Page 170 - Lady of his love was wed with One Who did not love her better :— in her home, A thousand leagues from his, — her native home, She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy...
Page 147 - Another had his vows. — Oh ! there are some Can trifle, in cold vanity, with all The warm soul's precious throbs, to whom it is A triumph that a fond devoted heart . Is breaking for them, — who can bear to call Young flowers into beauty, and then crush them ! Affections trampled on, and hopes destroyed, Tears wrung from very bitterness, and sighs That waste the breath of life, — these all were her's Whose image is before me.
Page 101 - Von der Liebe Glut beseelt. Gerne möcht ich mit dem Gatten In die heimsche Wohnung ziehn, Doch es tritt ein stygscher Schatten Nächtlich zwischen mich und ihn. Ihre bleichen Larven alle Sendet mir Proserpina, Wo ich wandre, wo ich walle, Stehen mir die Geister da. In der Jugend frohe Spiele Drängen sie sich grausend ein, Ein entsetzliches Gewühle Nimmer kann ich fröhlich sein. Und den Mordstahl seh...
Page 302 - END OF VOL. I. LONDON : Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
Page 193 - ... power, All the triumph of this hour Is not worth one blush you stole — Give me back my bloom of soul ! Take the cup and take the gem ! What have I to do with them ? Loose the garland from my hair ! Thou shouldst wind the night-shade there ; Thou who wreath'st, with flattering art, Poison-flowers to bind my heart ! Give me back the rose you stole ! Give me back my bloom of soul * " Name thy wish, fair child. But tell me first what good genius has charmed thy lute for thee, that thus it sways...

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