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Anastasius appear beautiful better Blackwood's Magazine called Cape Henry Capt Captain character Christopher Christopher North Cockaigne Cockney Cornet cried daugh daughter dear deck Derry ditto Doctor Edinburgh Edinburgh Review eyes fair fear feel frae gentleman give Glasgow hand head heard heart honour hope hour India Ireland James James Hogg Jamphler John King lady land late Leith Lieut live London look Lord Lord Byron Majesty manner ment merchant mind morning nature Necessitarian neral never night o'er person poem poet poetry present purch racter readers round Royal Scotland seemed shew song soon spirit sure tell thee thing thou thought tion Tuscan verse vice Wahabees Whigs whole wind words write young
Page 377 - Ye men of Israel, hear these words : Jesus of Nazareth, a man approved of God among you by miracles and wonders and signs, which God did by him in the midst of you, as ye yourselves also know: Him, being delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, ye have taken, and by wicked hands have crucified and slain...
Page 304 - But to my mind, — though I am native here, And to the manner born, — it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
Page 108 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all were his ! _ . He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Page 312 - A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Page 108 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave, — Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Page 108 - 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...
Page 108 - 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?
Page 109 - tis the hour of prayer ! Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! Ave Maria ! oh, that face so fair ! Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove — What though 'tis but a pictured image ? — strike — That painting is no idol, — 'tis too like.