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Стр. 37 - Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote ; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed : How all our copper had gone for his service ! Rags, — were they purple, his heart had been proud...
Стр. 37 - We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die ! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from their graves ! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves...
Стр. 122 - See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
Стр. 37 - One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! Life's night begins : let him never come back to us ! There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again...
Стр. 122 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Стр. 271 - For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is haunted...
Стр. 128 - Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, The apostle of Affliction, he who threw Enchantment over passion, and from woe Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew The breath which made him wretched ; yet he knew How to make madness beautiful, and cast O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.
Стр. 28 - Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet than all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full Home she had none.
Стр. 66 - And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes; but, oh! While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through thy long dark lashes, low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, Above...