Noctes Ambrosianæ, 2. kötet

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127. oldal - Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued ? No martial myriads muster in thy gate ; No suppliant nations in thy temple wait : No...
50. oldal - They take a weight from off our waking toils ; They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity; They pass like spirits of the past...
55. oldal - The gamester, if he die a martyr to his profession, is doubly ruined. He adds his soul to every other loss ; and by the act of suicide renounces earth to forfeit heaven.
50. oldal - Our life is two-fold : Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence : Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
53. oldal - For of all great reformers, thyself wert the first; Thou wert the first, with discernment strong, To perceive that all rights divine were wrong; And long hast thou spent thy sovereign breath, In heaven above and in earth beneath, And roared it from thy burning throne, The glory of independence alone; Proclaiming to all with...
320. oldal - What thin Folio's yon sprawling on the side-table ? North. Scenery, costume, and architecture, chiefly on the western side of India, by Captain Robert Melville Grindlay — a beautiful and a splendid work.
247. oldal - I've left a' my heart behind me In my ain countree. The bud comes back to summer, An' the blossom to the bee, But I win back — oh, never ! To my ain countree ! I'm leal to the high heaven, Which will be leal to me ; . An there I'll meet ye a' soon Frae my ain countree ! SHEPHERD.
xv. oldal - ... Wilson may be, that, with the fire of genius, he has possessed some of its eccentricities ; — but, did he ever approach to those of Henry Brougham, who is the god of Whiggish idolatry? If the high and rare qualities with which he is invested are to be thrown aside as useless, because they may be clouded by a few grains of dust which he can blow aside at pleasure, it is less a punishment on Mr Wilson than on the country.
174. oldal - Do you like my voice, James ? I hope you do. Shepherd. I wad hae kent it, Mr North, on the Tower o' Babel, on the day o' the great hubbub. I think Socrates maun hae had just sic a voice — ye canna weel ca't sweet, for it's ower intellectual for that — ye canna ca't saft, for even in its laigh notes there's a sort o
102. oldal - Tis true, that all who rhyme— nay, all who write, Shrink from that fatal word to genius— trite; Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest; Though nature's sternest painter, yet the best.

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