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admiration advantage affectation appearance argument beauty become better breath called cause character common conversation criticism delight doubt English equally expression fact fancy feelings figure friends genius give given Godwin grace ground habit hand head heart hope House human idea imagination interest keep kind learning least less light lines live look Lord Lord Byron manner means mind moral nature never object once opinion original pain party pass passage passion perhaps person philosopher poet poetry political popular prejudices present principle question reader reason Review seems sense side sort sound speak spirit stand striking style thing thought tion tone Tooke true truth turn understanding verse voice whole wish writings
143. oldal - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
362. oldal - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
58. oldal - That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct As water is in water.
398. oldal - High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin...
262. oldal - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
363. oldal - The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
382. oldal - Now upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And like a glory the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon, Whose head in wintry grandeur towers And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer in a vale of flowers Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
191. oldal - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
145. oldal - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?