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Seite 52 - Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp through the foul womb of night The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch...
Seite 301 - Upon a brow more fierce than that, — Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin'd maid — the shrine profaned — Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests!
Seite 411 - That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, And still revolt when Truth would set them free. Licence they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that must first be wise and good ; But from that mark how far they rove we see, For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.
Seite 15 - Scottish descent, and flourished at the end of the sixth and the beginning of the seventh century, having died in the year of our Lord 606.
Seite 533 - On that first evening-, my aunt was lying insensible, to all appearance like one dying, — my father, with his poor forehead plastered over, from a wound he had received from a daughter dearly loved by him, and who loved him no less dearly, — my mother, a dead and murdered corpse, in the next room — yet was I wonderfully supported.
Seite 103 - Sir," replied the old wiseacre, " he was a fool. The right word never came to him. If you gave him back a bad shilling, he'd say, Why' it's as good a shilling as ever was born. You know he ought to have said coined. Coined, sir, never entered his head. He was a fool, sir.
Seite 99 - ... the free and ingenuous sort of such as evidently were born to study and love learning for itself, not for lucre, or any other end but the service of God and of truth, and perhaps that lasting fame and perpetuity of praise which God and good men have consented shall be the reward of those whose published labours advance the good of mankind...
Seite 413 - Hence loathed Melancholy Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born, In Stygian Cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy...
Seite 533 - God be praised, Coleridge, wonderful as it is to tell, I have never once been otherwise than collected and calm; even on the dreadful day, and in the midst of the terrible scene, I preserved a tranquillity which bystanders may have 40 construed into indifference — a tranquillity not of despair.