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Page 34 - Lo, Warrior ! now the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; Within it burns a wondrous light, To chase the spirits that love the night. That lamp shall burn unquenchably, Until the eternal doom shall be.
Page 85 - Bacon, and thy lord, was born, and here; Son to the grave, wise Keeper of the Seal, Fame and foundation of the English weal. What then his father was, that since is he, Now with a title more to the degree; England's high Chancellor: the destin'd heir, In his soft cradle, to his father's chair: Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full, Out of their choicest and their whitest wool.
Page 215 - Cambridge is a delight of a place, now there is nobody in it. I do believe you would like it, if you knew what it was without inhabitants.
Page 175 - The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
Page i - I love anecdotes. I fancy mankind may come, in time, to write all aphoristically, except in narrative; grow weary of preparation, and connection, and illustration, and all those arts by which a big book is made.
Page 1 - PRISONER OF CHILLON. MY hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare...
Page 148 - This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you : He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots.
Page 85 - Hail, happy genius of this ancient pile! How comes it all things so about thee smile? The fire, the wine, the men! and in the midst Thou stand'st as if some mystery thou didst!
Page 34 - Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed ; Full in the midst, his Cross of Red Triumphant Michael brandished, And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moon-beam kissed the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.