The Lamp [ed. by T.E. Bradley]., Volumes 24-25

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Thomas Earnshaw Bradley
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Page 100 - Let us consider, too, how differently young and old are affected by the words of some classic author, such as Homer or Horace. Passages, which to a boy are but rhetorical commonplaces, neither better nor worse than a hundred others, which any clever writer might supply, which he gets by heart and thinks very fine, and imitates, as he thinks, successfully, in his own flowing versification, at length come home to him, when long years have passed, and he has had experience of life, and pierce him, as...
Page 406 - Doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tone of our voices which he requested us to make more cheerful if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key.
Page 102 - I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead thou me on. I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, pride ruled my will: remember not past years.
Page 108 - A part of their route would lay across an immense tract, stretching north and south for hundreds of miles along the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and drained by the tributary streams of the Missouri and the Mississippi. This region, which resembles one of the immeasurable steppes of Asia, has not inaptly been termed
Page 22 - But he who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead, He lit his lamp, and took the key And turned it — alone again, he and she. He and she; but she would not speak, Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.
Page 100 - Virgil, as if a prophet or magician ; his single words and phrases, his pathetic half lines, giving utterance, as the voice of Nature herself, to that pain and weariness, yet hope of better things, which is the experience of her children in every time.
Page 103 - Take me away, and in the lowest deep There let me be, And there in hope the lone night-watches keep, Told out for me. There, motionless and happy in my pain, Lone, not forlorn, — There will I sing my sad perpetual strain, Until the morn. There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast, Which ne'er can cease To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest Of its Sole Peace. There will I sing my absent Lord and Love : — Take me away, That sooner I may rise, and go above, And see Him in the truth...
Page 407 - Upon entering the now desolate building, we had the satisfaction of embracing Captain Franklin, but no words can convey an idea of the filth and wretchedness that met our eyes on looking around. Our own misery had stolen upon us by degrees, and we were accustomed to the contemplation of each other's emaciated figures, but the ghastly countenances, dilated eye-balls, and sepulchral voices of Mr. Franklin and those with him, were more than we could at first bear.
Page 336 - Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, Just as she died, whose name you cut, some forty years ago.
Page 407 - Fort at dusk, and it is impossible to describe our sensations, when on attaining the eminence that overlooks it, we beheld the smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. From not having met with any footsteps in the snow, as we drew nigh our once cheerful residence, we had been agitated by many melancholy forebodings. Upon entering the now desolate building, we had the satisfaction of embracing Captain Franklin, but no words can convey an idea of the filth and wretchedness that met our eyes on looking...

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