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Strona 151 - In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace — Radiant palace — reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair!
Strona 167 - There are moments when, even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of a hell ; but the imagination of man is no -Carathis to explore with impunity its every cavern. Alas ! the grim legion of sepulchral terrors cannot be regarded as altogether fanciful ; but, like the demons in whose company 'Afrasiab made his voyage down the Oxus, they must sleep or they will devour us — they must be suffered to slumber or we perish.
Strona 77 - En vain contre le Cid un ministre se ligue : Tout Paris pour Chimène a les yeux de Rodrigue.
Strona 183 - I offer this Book of Truths, not in its character of Truth-Teller, but for the Beauty that abounds in its Truth; constituting it true. To these I present the composition as an Art-Product alone : - let us say as a Romance; or, if I be not urging too lofty a claim, as a Poem. What I here propound is true : - therefore it cannot die : or if by any means it be now trodden down so that it die, it will 'rise again to the Life Everlasting'.
Strona 80 - Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Strona 75 - NOW was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day...
Strona 73 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Strona 89 - I say the absoluteness — for in these fancies — let me now term them psychal impressions — there is really nothing even approximate in character to impressions ordinarily received. It is as if the five senses were supplanted by five myriad others alien to mortality.