What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Aldershot animals Anstruther appear Arab Austria beautiful believe better Buckle called cause character Charles Church colonies course cried doubt duty Emperor England English Erie eyes fact Faust favour feel fish Florence France French German give Goldwin Smith Government ground half hand heart honour horse human interest kind King Kinglake labour Lady land less libel live look Lord Lord Palmerston Lord Raglan Malagrida Margaret matter Mauritius means ment Mephistopheles mind minister mollusks moral Moselle nation nature Nelly ness never once opinion Ostend party passed person Petrarch political present principles Prussia question racter Radama Roman seemed side sion Slap soldiers spirit Tacitus Tebessa things thought tical tion Tory town truth turn Ultramontane Whigs whole woman words writing young
Page 300 - Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark...
Page 355 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye Whose agonies are evils of a day ! — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
Page 271 - For the king of Babylon stood at the parting of the way, at the head of the two ways, to use divination: he made his arrows bright, he consulted with images, he looked in the liver.
Page 227 - Party is a body of men united, for promoting by their joint endeavours the national interest, upon some particular principle...
Page 520 - The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story : The long light shakes across the lakes And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 355 - The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! Whose agonies are evils of a day— A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd...
Page 227 - It is the business of the speculative philosopher to mark the proper ends of government. It is the business of the politician, who is the philosopher in action, to find out proper means towards those ends, and to employ them with effect.
Page 292 - It was the English,' Kaspar cried, 'Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out.
Page 62 - Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar ? Not one now, to mock your own grinning?
Page 91 - ... self-collecting power is such, He shrinks into his house, with much Displeasure. Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Except himself has chattels none, Well satisfied to be his own Whole treasure. Thus, hermitlike, his life he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, And if he meets one, only feeds The faster. Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (He and his house are so combined) If, finding it, he fails to find Its master.