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Стр. 221 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Стр. 139 - tis a morn of May Round old Ravenna's clear-shewn towers and bay, A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen, Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green ; For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night, Have left a sparkling welcome for the light...
Стр. 375 - She likewise insisted upon a security that the crowns of France and Spain should never be united on the same head. Her majesty no longer insisted upon Philip's being expelled from the throne of Spain by the arms of his own grandfather.
Стр. 257 - To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold...
Стр. 181 - But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O ! I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O ! the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
Стр. 20 - Were I ambitious of any other Patron than the Public, I would inscribe this work to a Statesman, who, in a long, a stormy, and at length an unfortunate administration, had many political opponents, x PREFACE almost without a personal enemy: who has retained, in his fall from power, many faithful and disinterested friends; and who, under the pressure of severe infirmity, enjoys the lively vigour of his mind, and the felicity of his incomparable temper.
Стр. 144 - But the proper language of poetry is in fact nothing different from that of real life, and depends for its dignity upon the strength and sentiment of what it speaks. It is only adding musical modulation to what a fine understanding might actually utter in the midst of its griefs or enjoyments.
Стр. 139 - Fade in the warmth of that great charity ; And hard it is, she thinks, to have no will; But not to bless these thousands, harder still : With that, a keen and quivering glance of tears Scarce moves her patient mouth, and disappears ; A smile is underneath, and breaks away, And round she looks and breathes, as best befits the day. What need I tell of lovely lips and eyes, A clipsome waist, and bosom's balmy rise...