Romantic Professions: And Other PapersE. Mathews & J. Lane, 1894 - 225 стор. |
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Сторінка 194 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself. Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Сторінка 118 - I've made her eyes all right and blue, Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash, And then add soul and heighten them threefold? Or say there's beauty with no soul at all (I never saw it - put the case the same - ) If you get simple beauty and nought else, You get about the best thing God invents, That's somewhat. And you'll find the soul you have missed. Within yourself when you return Him thanks, 'Rub all out!
Сторінка 96 - 'Because you fell in love!' growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. 'Good afternoon!' 'Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?' 'Good afternoon,
Сторінка 194 - Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge ; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.
Сторінка 18 - Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea." BOSWELL. "Lord Mansfield does not." JOHNSON. "Sir, if Lord Mansfield were in a company of General Officers and Admirals who have been in service, he would shrink; he'd wish to creep under the table.
Сторінка 216 - The affectionate Laidlaw beseeching him to stop dictating, when his audible suffering filled every pause. ' Nay, Willie,' he answered, ' only see that the doors are fast. I would fain keep all the cry as well as all the wool to ourselves ; but as to giving over work, that can only be when I am in woollen.
Сторінка 202 - He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.
Сторінка 137 - The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, And — STANLEY ! was the cry ; — A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye ; With dying hand, above his head He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted "Victory! — Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!
Сторінка 219 - ... an inward prompting which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after times, as they should not willingly let it die.
Сторінка 174 - ... as ourselves. The tenor, therefore, of their affections and feelings must have borne the same general proportion to our own.