Titan, Том 24J. Hogg, 1857 |
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Стр. 15
... tell us the story ; but she gravely resisted . ' No ! it is no exciting story such as you would care for . It is simply a true one , and very dear and sacred to me . ' Perhaps our quieter voices , and more earnest and serious looks ...
... tell us the story ; but she gravely resisted . ' No ! it is no exciting story such as you would care for . It is simply a true one , and very dear and sacred to me . ' Perhaps our quieter voices , and more earnest and serious looks ...
Стр. 16
... tell her truly and fearlessly - could he save her ? The answer made her pale face grow paler for an instant . She clasped her hands instinctively , and a prayer escaped her lips : - ' My Lily - must I leave my Lily deso- late ...
... tell her truly and fearlessly - could he save her ? The answer made her pale face grow paler for an instant . She clasped her hands instinctively , and a prayer escaped her lips : - ' My Lily - must I leave my Lily deso- late ...
Стр. 23
... what is to be gained by it ? He will tell you — truth . Does , then , any philo- sopher really believe that he is likely to 1. The Sánkhya , first started about eight is this Notes on Indian Literature - Philosophy . 23.
... what is to be gained by it ? He will tell you — truth . Does , then , any philo- sopher really believe that he is likely to 1. The Sánkhya , first started about eight is this Notes on Indian Literature - Philosophy . 23.
Стр. 24
... tell you it is a morbid state of the mind that makes men philosophers . We do not believe it . Philosophising is a habit the habit of contemplation . A man does not become a philosopher in a day or a week . Philosophy is the poetry of ...
... tell you it is a morbid state of the mind that makes men philosophers . We do not believe it . Philosophising is a habit the habit of contemplation . A man does not become a philosopher in a day or a week . Philosophy is the poetry of ...
Стр. 33
... brain had only been of the right sort . But why all this ? I wished particu- larly to tell of the residence in which I spent my boyhood , not much in the com- с pany of my teacher , and all the more in Three Love - Dreams . 333.
... brain had only been of the right sort . But why all this ? I wished particu- larly to tell of the residence in which I spent my boyhood , not much in the com- с pany of my teacher , and all the more in Three Love - Dreams . 333.
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afore agin aint amongst Anne arter Battle of Largs beautiful better called carriage child Chinese Christian colour Cousin critter curchy dear diaulos door dream earth Emile de Girardin English eyes face father feel feller felt flowers French give Goethe hand happy harnsome head heard heart heaven honour Jase jist journal king lady leetle light living looked Lord Morpeth marriage ment mind Molière nature ness never night once Orleanist passed Paula perhaps Perthes poor racter Ratin Ronaldsvo round Saint Saint David Saint Patrick Sankhya Scotland seemed side silent Sister Skerries Slick smile snails sort soul spirit stood sweet Taepings talk tell thee things thou thought tion took turned uncle voice Walter Turnbull Weathersfield wife window words young
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Стр. 107 - No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.
Стр. 102 - Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Стр. 370 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Стр. 65 - Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Стр. 201 - Sweet flower ! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! TO THE SAME FLOWER.
Стр. 428 - I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. That which is crooked cannot be made straight: and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.
Стр. 65 - Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, brown furze, anything: The wills above be done ! but I would fain die a dry death.
Стр. 96 - IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes, Rang the beautiful wild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Стр. 183 - Because of the voice of the enemy, because of the oppression of the wicked : for they cast iniquity upon me, and in wrath they hate me. 4 My heart is sore pained within me: and the terrors of death are fallen upon me. 5 Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me.
Стр. 96 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!