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able admiration advantage affected appearance argument beauty become better breath called cause character common criticism doubts equally expression fact fancy feeling force friends genius give given grace ground habit hand head heart hopes House human idea imagination interest keep kind learning least less liberty light lines live look Lord Lord Byron manner matter means ment mind moral nature never object once opinion original Paine party passion perhaps person philosophical play poet poetry political popular prejudice present principle question reader reason Review seems sense side sometimes sort sound speak speeches spirit stand striking style thing thought tion tone Tooke true truth turn understanding verse voice whole wish writings
136. oldal - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
127. oldal - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
47. oldal - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
106. oldal - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast...
96. 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.
98. oldal - It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.
105. 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...
126. oldal - 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.
109. oldal - I WISH I was where Anna lies, For I am sick of lingering here ; And every hour, affection cries, Go and partake her humble bier. I wish I could ! for when she died, I lost my all ; and life has proved, Since that sad hour, a dreary void, A waste unlovely, and unloved.