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Стр. 247 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tower...
Стр. 329 - Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,— Which, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,— A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy...
Стр. 273 - THERE IS ONE SORT of labour which adds to the value of the subject upon which it is bestowed: there is another which has no such effect.
Стр. 329 - O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers; Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times.
Стр. 39 - Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ? — Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand ? — Is it there, sweet mother! that better land?" — " Not there, not there, my child ! " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Стр. 6 - She woos the tardy Spring: Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground; And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance, Frisking ply their feeble feet; Forgetful of their wintry trance The birds his presence greet: But chief, the skylark warbles high His trembling thrilling ecstasy; And, lessening from the dazzled sight, Melts into air and liquid light.
Стр. 260 - That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Стр. 259 - With public zeal to cancel private crimes. How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, Where none can sin against the people's will! Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known. Since in another's guilt they find their own!
Стр. 151 - The true scholar grudges every opportunity of action past by, as a loss of power. It is the raw material out of which the intellect moulds her splendid products. A strange process too, this, by which experience is converted into thought, as a mulberry leaf is converted into satin. The manufacture goes forward at all hours.