the just in heaven:—
Also in the lengthening troop see I some clad in robes of triumph, Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on earth. Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, Sciences, and Muses, That, like Sisters of Charity, tended in this world's hospital; Welcome, for verily I knew ye could not but be children of the light; Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven, And some I have scarcely looked for; as thou, light-hearted Mirth; Thou, also, star-robed Urania; and thou with the curious glass, That rejoicest in tracking beauty where the eye was too dull to note it. And art thou, too, among the blessed, mild, much-injured Poetry? That quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of matter, That not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens with music, And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars.
The Lightning up.
He spak to the spynnsters to spynnen it oute. Piers Ploughman.
this evening, the 20th of
nd when we did all desire to know their import, she repeated them thus:– Sure thou didst flourish once, and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers. And still a new succession sings and flies, Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still enduring skies, While the low violet thriveth at their root. These lines, she said, were written by one Vaughn, a Brecknockshire Welsh Doctor of Medicine, who had printed a little book not many years ago. Mr. Richardson said the lines were good, but that he did hold the reading of ballads and the conceits of rhymers a waste of time, to say nothing worse.
Sir Thomas hereat said that, as far as he could judge, the worthy folk of New England had no great temptation to that sin from their own poets, and did then, in a drolling tone, repeat some verses of the 137th Psalm, which he said were the best he h
silently blessing the power and wisdom of my infinite Creator, who knows how to honor himself by all those unrevealed and glorious subordinations.
The skippers story.
well, what's the news below?
asked the Doctor of his housekeeper, as she came home from a gossiping visit to the landing one afternoon.
What new piece of scandal is afloat now?
Nothing, except what concerns yourself, answered Widow Matson, tartly.
Mrs. Nugeon says that you've been to see her neighbor Wait's girl—she that's sick with the measles—half a dozen times, and never so much as left a spoonful of medicine; and she should like to know what a doctor's good for without physic.
Besides, she says Lieutenant Brown would have got well if you'd minded her, and let him have plenty of thoroughwort tea, and put a split fowl at the pit of his stomach.
A split stick on her own tongue would be better, said the Doctor, with a wicked grimace.
Let her look out for herself the next ti