Morbida, or, Passion past, and other poems, from the Cymric and other sources

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Saunders and Otley, 1854 - Всего страниц: 168
 

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Стр. 62 - And from that hour did I with earnest thought Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore, Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught I cared to learn, but from that secret store Wrought linked armour for my soul, before It might walk forth to war among mankind...
Стр. 38 - Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. — Methinks, I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of...
Стр. 152 - The mountains look on Marathon And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
Стр. 81 - Tis she ; — but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ! Oh, ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell, Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well ? To bear too tender or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part ? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die...
Стр. 69 - I, because we were so occupied in other matters, that we had no time to examine them how they agreed with the word of God: What, said he, surely you mistook the matter, you will refer yourselves wholly to us therein? No, by the faith I bear to God...
Стр. 96 - It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; All adoration, duty, and observance ; All humbleness, all patience, and impatience ; All purity, all trial, all observance ; — And so am I for Phebe.
Стр. 134 - Therefore rejoice ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the Inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.
Стр. 149 - Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off.
Стр. 52 - Roused by the shock, he started from his trance — The cold white light of morning, the blue moon Low in the west, the clear and garish hills, The distinct valley and the vacant woods, Spread round where he stood. — Whither have fled The hues of heaven that canopied his bower Of yesternight...

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