This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1879 Excerpt: ...did for me They altogether die, Those trackless glories glimps'd in upper sky? Were they of chance, or vain, Nor good at all again For curb of heart or fret? Nay, though, by grace, Lest, haply, I refuse God to His face, Their likeness wholly I forget, Ah, yet, Often in straits which else for me were ill, I mind me ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1879 Excerpt: ...did for me They altogether die, Those trackless glories glimps'd in upper sky? Were they of chance, or vain, Nor good at all again For curb of heart or fret? Nay, though, by grace, Lest, haply, I refuse God to His face, Their likeness wholly I forget, Ah, yet, Often in straits which else for me were ill, I mind me still I did respire the lonely auras sweet, I did the blest abodes behold, and, at the moun-tains' feet, Bathed in the holy Stream by Hermon's thymy hill. IN LOVE T F he's capricious shell be so, But, if his duties constant are, She lets her loving favour glow As steady as a tropic star; Appears there nought for which to weep, She'll weep for nought, for his dear sake; She clasps her sister in her sleep; Her love in dreams is most awake. Her soul, that once with pleasure shook, Did any eyes her beauty own, Now wonders how they dare to look On what belongs to him alone; The indignity of taking gifts Exhilarates her loving breast; A rapture of submission lifts Her life into celestial rest; There's nothing left of what she was; Back to the babe the woman dies, And all the wisdom that she has Is to love him for being wise. She's confident because she fears; And, though discreet when he's away, If none but her dear despot hears, She prattles like a child at play. Perchance, when all her praise is said, He tells the news, a battle won, On either side ten thousand dead. "Alas!" she says; but if'twere known, She thinks, " He's looking on my face! I am his joy; whate'er I do, He sees such time-contenting grace In that, he'd have me always so I" And, evermore, for either's sake, To the sweet folly of the dove, She joins the cunning of the snake, To rivet and exalt his love; Her mode of candour is deceit; And what she thinks from what she...
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Seller's Description:
Very Good. No Dust Jacket. 16mo-over 5¾"-6¾" tall. (No Date) 230+1 pp. Original green cloth covers w/ gilt title on spine. Binding lightly soiled and rubbed. Light scattered foxing. Otherwise, contents nice.