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Strona 581 - With head up-raised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent, And locks flung back, and lips apart, Like monument of Grecian art, In listening mood, she seemed to stand The guardian Naiad of the strand.
Strona 593 - Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright! — — But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
Strona 592 - But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt— We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." — Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each...
Strona 912 - For they being ignorant of God's righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.
Strona 591 - Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch' could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung, Upon the mountain-side they hung. The mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side, Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James — " How sayst thou now ? These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu...
Strona 593 - Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; Received, but recked not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel ! They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
Strona 931 - AMONG the deepest shades of night, Can there be one who sees my way ? Yes ; God is like a shining light, That turns the darkness into day. When every eye around me sleeps, May I not sin without control ? No ; for a constant watch he keeps On every thought of every soul.
Strona 582 - E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear.
Strona 580 - The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; like crested leader proud and high...
Strona 733 - The Church, like the Ark of Noah, is worth saving: not for the sake of the unclean beasts that almost filled it, and probably made most noise and clamour in it, but for the little corner of rationality, that was as much distressed by the stink within, as by the tempest without.