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Seite 27 - The reason is, your spirits are attentive ; For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music.
Seite 13 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war; Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Seite 15 - She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
Seite 28 - With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?
Seite 18 - But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: — The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. XLII And they are gone: ay, ages long ago 370 These lovers fled away into the storm.
Seite 75 - She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said 'I love thee true!
Seite 36 - To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.
Seite 13 - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare...
Seite 44 - Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose On this afflicted prince. Fall like a cloud In gentle showers: give nothing that is loud Or painful to his slumbers: easy, sweet, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain: Into this prince, gently, oh gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers, like a bride.