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Страница 218 - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth...
Страница 205 - The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she. "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — A tress...
Страница 216 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar; Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown...
Страница 220 - Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Страница 235 - But it droop'd its head, that plant of power, And died the mute death of the voiceless flower ; And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, More meet for a burial than a bridal day.
Страница 146 - Man's a strange animal, and makes strange use Of his own nature, and the various arts, And likes particularly to produce Some new experiment to show his parts; This is the age of oddities let loose, Where different talents find their different marts: You'd best begin with truth; and when you've lost your Labour, there's a sure market for imposture.
Страница 205 - The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she.
Страница 57 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!
Страница 232 - S mo chaomh mhuime, Brighde, Translated — St Bridget, the daughter of Dughall Donn, Son of Hugh, sou of Art, son of Conn. Each day and each night I will meditate on the genealogy of St Bridget. [Whereby] I will not be killed, I will not be wounded, I will not be bewitched ; Neither will Christ forsake me ; Satan's fire will not burn me ; Neither water nor sea shall...