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admiration appear beauty become better called character common considered continued court death delight effect English epigram equal expression eyes fair feeling French genius give hand happy head heart hope hour human imagination interest Italy kind King lady least leave less light living London look Lord manner matter means Megabyzus mind nature never night object observed once opinion passed passion perhaps persons picture piece play poet poetry political possess present reader reason received remarkable respect round scene seems seen side sleep soon speak spirit square stand thee thing thou thought tion town true turn walk whole writers young
Strona 532 - She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Strona 363 - Ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread...
Strona 135 - Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed: Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage.
Strona 38 - Vanbrugh , and is a good example of his heavy though imposing style (*Lie heavy on him, Earth, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee"), with a Corinthian portico in the centre and two projecting wings.
Strona 399 - The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower, Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, Follow the nimble finger of the fair — A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow With most success when all besides decay.
Strona 445 - ve sworn by our country's assaulters, By the virgins they 've dragg'd from our altars, By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, By our heroes of old and their blood in our veins, That living, we shall be victorious, Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious. A breath of submission we breathe not; The sword that we 've drawn we will sheathe not ! Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid, And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Strona 445 - AGAIN to the battle, Achaians ! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree — It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free : For the cross of our faith is replanted, The pale dying crescent is daunted, And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's slaves May be washed out in blood from our forefathers
Strona 161 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Strona 445 - Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth. Strike home, and the world shall revere us As heroes descended from heroes.
Strona 428 - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o