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Page 324 - To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood...
Page 403 - He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
Page 399 - So cruel prison how could betide, alas, As proud Windsor? where I in lust and joy, With a King's son, my childish years did pass, In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy.
Page 18 - ... compounding all the materials of fury, havoc, and desolation into one black cloud, he hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains.
Page 402 - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
Page 85 - Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, . Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Page 400 - The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight, The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest, The secret thoughts imparted with such trust, The wanton talk, the divers change of play, The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,— Wherewith we past the winter nights away. And with this thought the blood forsakes the face ; The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue...
Page 149 - The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the sun thou welcom'st then, Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams; And all these merry days mak'st merry men, Thyself, and melancholy streams.
Page 402 - Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool...
Page 18 - A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable inhabitants, flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaughtered ; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank or sacredness of function, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the goading spears of drivers, and the trampling of pursuing horses, were swept into captivity in an unknown and hostile land.