Men, Women, and Books: A Selection of Sketches, Essays, and Critical Memoirs, from His Uncollected Prose Writings, Volume 1

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Harper and brothers, 1847 - 576 pages
 

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Page 164 - Lo! the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way...
Page 258 - Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unused armour's rust: Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urged his active star.
Page 258 - Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould.
Page 259 - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bow'd his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Page 235 - The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; The fanning wind, and purling streams, continue her repose.
Page 230 - Sotto quel sta, quasi fra due vallette La bocca sparsa di natio cinabro; Quivi due filze son di perle elette, Che chiude ed apre un bello, e dolce labro: Quindi escon le cortesi parolette Da render molle ogni cor rozzo e scabro: Quivi si forma quel soave riso, Ch'apre a sua posta in terra il paradiso. Bianca neve è il bel collo, e...
Page 202 - Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, When Agrican, with all his northern powers, Besieged Albracca, as romances tell, The city...
Page 114 - And more to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne. No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t...
Page 226 - With that she dashed her on the lips So dyed double red ; Hard was the heart that gave the blow, Soft were those lips that bled.
Page 259 - He had of wiser art, Where, twining subtle fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook's narrow case...

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