Rambles Among Words: Their Poetry, History, and Wisdom

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Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor & Company, 1872 - 302 páginas
 

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Passagens conhecidas

Página 71 - Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore...
Página 9 - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain. Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanished ; They live no longer in the faith of reason!
Página 54 - Mother of this unfathomable world ! Favour my solemn song, for I have loved Thee ever, and thee only; I have watched Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps, And my heart ever gazes on the depth Of thy deep mysteries.
Página 189 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity ; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew ; — The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Página 123 - Go! if your ancient but ignoble blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, Go! and pretend your family is young; Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. Look next on greatness; say where greatness lies. Where, but among the heroes and the wise?
Página 52 - In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.
Página 128 - Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldam earth, and topples down Steeples and moss-grown towers.
Página 60 - They live no longer in the faith of reason ! But still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names...
Página 55 - Has shone within me, that serenely now And moveless, as a long-forgotten lyre Suspended in the solitary dome Of some mysterious and deserted fane, I wait thy breath, Great Parent, that my strain May modulate with murmurs of the air, And motions of the forests and the sea, And voice of living beings, and woven hymns Of night and day, and the deep heart of man.
Página 173 - A quibble is the golden apple for which he will always turn aside from his career or stoop from his elevation. A quibble, poor and barren as it is, gave him such delight that he was content to purchase it by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, and truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleopatra for which he lost the world, and was content to lose it.

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