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292. oldal - nature. The man that hath not music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be
201. oldal - grounds; And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew ; Here, as with doubtful, pensive steps I range, Trace every scene and wonder at the change, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
471. oldal - womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, With many windings, through the vale :—Look back ! l,o ; where it comes like an eternity, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Charming the eye with dread,—a matchless cataract,
200. oldal - And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; And as a babe, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
345. oldal - said unto him. Art thou an Ephraimite ? If he said nay, then said they unto him, say now Shibboleth : and he said, Sibboleth : for he could not frame to pronounce it right. Then they took him and slew him at the passages of Jordan.
469. oldal - rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strew« Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away,
471. oldal - on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hnes with all their beams unshorn : Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.
467. oldal - echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear : Those days are gone— but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade— but Nature doth not die,
468. oldal - Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sufferance make its firm abode In bare and desolate bosoms : mute The camel labours with the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence,—not bestow'd In vain should such example be ; if they, Things of ignoble or of
14. oldal - if the blood, ! In sluggish streams about my heart, forbid : That best ambition, under closing shades Inglorious lay me by the lowly brook, And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin, Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my song ; And let me never, never stray from Thee ! Autumn,