The Collected Essays & Addresses of the Rt. Hon. Augustine Birrell, 1880-1920, 3. kötet

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Scribner's sons, 1923
 

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129. oldal - And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.
281. oldal - How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee : 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
134. oldal - Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.
283. oldal - Life is a jest, and all things show it, I thought so once, but now I know it, with what more you may think proper.
133. oldal - Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly — Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings , Invisible wo!
283. oldal - tis Death itself there dies. EPITAPH. STOP, Christian Passer-by ! — Stop, child of God, And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem'd 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 ask'd, and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the same ! 9th November, 1833 REMORSE.
68. oldal - Oxford to him a dearer name shall be Than his own mother-university; Thebes did his rude unknowing youth engage; He chooses Athens in his riper age.
43. oldal - No past event has any intrinsic importance. The knowledge of it is valuable only as it leads us to form just calculations with respect to the future.
283. oldal - WEEP with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
322. oldal - Every voice is united in applauding elegance, propriety, simplicity, spirit in writing ; and in blaming fustian, affectation, coldness, and a false brilliancy: But when critics come to particulars, this seeming unanimity vanishes; and it is found, that they had affixed a very different meaning to their expressions.

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