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Doveton; Or, the Man of Many Impulses, by the Author Of 'Jerningham'.
John William Kaye
Sin vista previa disponible - 2013
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Página 54 - Composed upon Westminster Bridge September 3, 1802 EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Página 26 - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life, to lead From, joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is...
Página 77 - Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner ; and all quality. Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And O, you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! lago.
Página 287 - Tis only when they spring to heaven that angels Reveal themselves to you; they sit all day Beside you, and lie down at night by you Who care not for their presence, muse or sleep, And all at once they leave you, and you know them!
Página 214 - Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead ? Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same That I may rest; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? Seven years, alas!
Página 60 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Página 237 - But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.
Página 18 - Remember the old man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength.
Página 98 - If thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger ! henceforth be warned ; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness ; that he who feels contempt For any living thing hath faculties Which he has never used, that thought with him Is in its infancy.