The dramatic works of Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, bart. To which are added, three odes

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Сторінка 376 - I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England, too...
Сторінка 293 - The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold The arch-enchanter's wand! — itself a nothing! But taking sorcery from the master hand To paralyse the Caesars — and to strike The loud earth breathless! — Take away the sword; States can be saved without it!
Сторінка 215 - Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home In the soft palace of a fairy Future! My father died; and I, the peasant-born, Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate; And, with such jewels as the exploring mind Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom From those twin gaolers of the daring heart Low birth and iron fortune.
Сторінка 192 - Oh rapture! I shall join the armies of the republic — I shall rise — I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to her — "See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the — humble!
Сторінка 393 - A long swell was setting into the Bay of Cadiz. Our ships, crowding all sail, moved majestically before it, with light winds from the southwest. The sun shone on the sails of the enemy, and their well-formed line, with their numerous three-deckers, made an appearance which any other assailants would have thought formidable; but the...
Сторінка 307 - And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds Its rising roots not up ; but never yet Did one least barrier by a ripple vex My onward tide, unswept in sport away. Am I so ruthless then that I do hate Them who hate me ? Tush, tush ! I do not hate ; Nay, I forgive.
Сторінка 273 - ... mart, and schism within the temple ; Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France ; and from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase Civilization on her luminous wings Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! — What was my art ? Genius, some say ; some.
Сторінка 305 - And bright with beck'ning angels — but, alas ! We see thee, like the Patriarch, but in dreams. By the first step — dull-slumbering on the earth. I am not happy ! — with the Titan's lust, I woo'da goddess, and I clasp a cloud. When I am dust, my name shall, like a star, Shine through wan space, a glory — and a prophet Whereby pale seers shall from their aery towers Con all the ominous signs, benign or evil, That make the potent astrologue of kings.
Сторінка 338 - Goddess of bright dreams, My country — shalt thou lose me now, when most Thou need'st thy worshipper? My native land! Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, And die — but on thy bosom! Enter JULIE. Julie. Heaven! I thank thee! It cannot be, or this all-powerful man Would not stand idly thus.
Сторінка 202 - I honour the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! PAULINE.

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