Sketches of eminent statesmen and writers, with other essays, Issue 290, Volume 2

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Page 329 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Page 329 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free. And many a tyrant since : their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts; — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves
Page 154 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Page 63 - Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Page 308 - And it would be a most easy task to prove to him, that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to the metre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be strictly the language of prose when prose is well written.
Page 334 - Next Anger rush'd ; his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings : In one rude clash, he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the...
Page 332 - There is given Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in the ruin'd battlement, For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.
Page 301 - I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.
Page 354 - I made them lay their hands in mine and swear To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King To break the heathen and uphold the Christ...
Page 371 - The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood ! St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood Stand, but in mockery of his...

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