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Popular passages
Page 134 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form. A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Page 153 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Page 134 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From...
Page 174 - Into those gorgeous bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes there did intervene Pure hopes of high intent ; For passions linked to forms so fair And stately needs must have their share Of noble sentiment.
Page 14 - At that time, saith the LORD, they shall bring out the bones of the kings of Judah, and the bones of his princes, and the bones of the priests, and the bones of the prophets, and the bones of the inhabitants of Jerusalem out of their graves. And they shall spread them before the sun, and the moon, and all the host of heaven...
Page 134 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear: If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, • Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
Page 130 - Your Kemble's spirit was the home Of genius and of taste : — Taste like the silent dial's power, That, when supernal light is given, Can measure inspiration's hour, And tell its height in heaven. At once ennobled and correct, His mind surveyed the tragic page, And what the actor could effect, The scholar could presage.
Page 207 - Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Page 134 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine ; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt, — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
Page 132 - DAY set on Norham's castled steep. And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep, The loop-hole grates where captives weep. The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone.