Genius and Industry: The Achievements of Mind Among the Cottages ...

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Partridge and Oakey, 1852 - 221 pages

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Page 67 - The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil, -all about the faces fiery grow, "Hurrah!" they shout, " leap out, leap out": bang, bang, the sledges go; Hurrah!
Page 63 - His hair is crisp and black and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow : You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low.
Page 63 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Page 49 - Dutch settlement, was not, as might have been expected, in the best order; the apartment had not been regularly ventilated, and, either from this circumstance, or already affected by the fatal sickness peculiar to Batavia, Leyden, when he left the place, had a fit of shivering, and declared the atmosphere was enough to give any mortal a fever. The presage was too just; he took his bed, and died in three days, on the eve of the battle which gave Java to the British empire.
Page 119 - Oh! what a glorious thing it became, For it spoke to the world in a language of flame; While its master wrote on like a being inspired, Till the hearts of the millions were melted or fired: It came as a boon and a blessing to men, The peaceful, the pure, the victorious Pen! Young...
Page 51 - SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine ! What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so dear?
Page 51 - Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave, Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear.
Page 52 - To roam in climes unkind and new. The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart the grave Dark and untimely met my view ; And all for thee, vile yellow slave...
Page 176 - ... at that hour thronged the room. After dinner I took a short walk, and then again sat down to Homer's Iliad, with a determination to master it, without a master. The proudest moment of my life was when I first possessed myself of the full meaning of the first fifteen lines of that noble work.
Page 18 - ... rare piece of work brought to pass by Peter Bales, an Englishman, and a clerk of the chancery ;" it seems by the description to have been the whole Bible " in an English walnut no bigger than a hen's egg. The nut holdeth the book: there are as many leaves in his little book as the great Bible, and he hath written as much in one of his little leaves as a great leaf of the Bible.

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