Essays and tales in prose, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1853
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Page 163 - She, as a veil down to the slender waist, Her unadorned golden tresses wore...
Page 101 - Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul : see, where it flies ! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.
Page 158 - 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.
Page 113 - Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done : The equal thought I bear of life and death Shall make me faint on no side ; I am up. Here like a Roman statue I will stand Till death hath made me marble. Oh, my fame, Live in despite of murder ; take thy wings And haste thee where the grey-ey'd morn perfumes 100. Her rosy chariot with Sabaean spices ; Fly, where the evening from th...
Page 168 - Sworn by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome, So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain. That he till death true dulness would maintain; And, in his father's right, and realm's defence, Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense.
Page 96 - O ambitious beggar, wouldst thou have that That lives not in the world ? Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy An ounce of justice, 'tis a jewel so inestimable. I tell thee, God hath engrossed all justice in his hands, And there is none but what comes from him.
Page 101 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusa's azured arms:" And none but thou shalt be my paramour!
Page 108 - Scorched them even to the roots and dried them there : And now a gentle gale hath blown again, That made these branches meet and twine together, Never to be divided. The god that sings His holy numbers over marriage-beds Hath knit their noble hearts ; and here they stand Your children, mighty King : and I have done.
Page 112 - Thou wert not so even now, sickness' pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the midst of feasting ; And when a cup crowned with thy lover's health Had touched thy lips, a sensible cold dew Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept To see such beauty alter.
Page 107 - Sing you an epithalamion of these lovers, But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, And wanting a celestial harp to strike This blessed union on, thus in glad story I give you all.

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