A Gallery of Literary Portraits

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W. Tait, 1845 - Всего страниц: 443
 

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Стр. 89 - Archangel ; but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care Sat on his faded cheek ; but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge.
Стр. 119 - The SUN is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The SOUL, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE.
Стр. 249 - O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or, mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem. As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span • Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.
Стр. 17 - The loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains Sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man Equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless. Exempt from awe, worship degree, the king Over himself; just, gentle, wise...
Стр. 317 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Стр. 385 - Yet faded from him; Sidney as he fought And as he fell, and as he lived and loved, Sublimely mild, a spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved: Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.
Стр. 397 - On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand.
Стр. 355 - There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud : And hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud : The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free — While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.
Стр. 336 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day...
Стр. 288 - Stop, Christian passer-by ; stop, child of God, And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seemed he. O lift one thought in prayer for STC, That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death, Mercy for praise, — to be forgiven for fame, — He asked and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.

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