Shropshire Folk-lore: A Sheaf of Gleanings, Volume 1

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Trübner & Company, 1883 - 672 pages

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Page 412 - For which the shepherds, at their festivals, Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.
Page 265 - Alas! you know the cause too well: The salt is spilt, to me it fell. Then, to contribute to my loss, My knife and fork were laid across; On Friday too! the day I dread! Would I were safe at home in bed! Last night (I vow to heaven 'tis true) Bounce from the fire a coffin flew. Next post some fatal news shall tell, God send my Cornish friends be well!
Page 503 - And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage* With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation.
Page 82 - I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword — and how I...
Page 399 - So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fire — There goes my lady, and there goes the squire, There goes the parson, oh ! illustrious spark, And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! REPORT • OF AN ADJUDGED CASE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
Page 412 - There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream : Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute.
Page 284 - Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Page 42 - Elijah mocked them, and said: Cry aloud, for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is on a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth and must be awaked.
Page 282 - Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, Who is the fairest of us all?
Page 391 - Tityrus, where th' hast been, Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen. Tityrus. Gloomy night embraced the place Where the noble infant lay: The babe looked up, and showed his face: In spite of darkness it was day. It was thy day, sweet, and did rise, Not from the east but from thine eyes.

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