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Page 312 - impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay. Great wits are sure to madness near allied, And thin partitions do their bonds divide ; Else why should he, with wealth and honour
Page 110 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own. " Trust not for freedom to the Franks— They have a king who buys and
Page 110 - 44 And where are they ? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now— The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face
Page 312 - Again, look at the famous sketch of the Duke of Buckingham. " A man so various, that he seem'd to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome ; Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong ; M'as every thing by starts, and nothing But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist,
Page 624 - throng ; And gentle wishes long subdued, The rich and balmy eve ;— And hopes and fears that kindle hope, Subdued, and cherish'd long. R. COLERIDGE. THE Moon is rising from the ebon tuft Of stately firs, that wreathe the mountain top With natural garland ; like a deity, Forth from her shrine majestical she peers, In silver glory,
Page 110 - but blush ?—Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylś ! " What, silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no ;—the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, •• Let one living head, But one arise,—we come, we come
Page 390 - the gentry hae gi'en up being " a terror to evil doers, and a praise to them that do weel," as it is said in the Scriptures. The provost o' our ain burgh o' Clayknows is a better gentleman than ony o' them. The provost, ma lord, as they ca' him, is just a stockin'-weaver ; and
Page 110 - found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' ' Islands of the Blest.' " The mountains look on Marathon— And Marathon looks on the sea ; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persian»' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.