The Works of Donald G. Mitchell: English lands, letters and kings; the later Georges to VictoriaC. Scribner's sons, 1907 |
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Abbotsford admired beautiful brilliant British Brougham Campbell chapter charming Childe Harold Christopher North Coleridge comes counted Crabb daughter death delight Diary Disraeli early Edinboro edition England English father friends gentleman George George IV give glitter Godwin grace Grasmere gray Hazlitt heart Hunt's Jeffrey John Wilson JOHN WILSON CROKER kindly Lady Blessington Lake Landor later Leigh Hunt letters literary living Lockhart London Lord Brougham Lord Byron Macaulay Mackintosh marriage married Moore mother mountain never Newstead pleasant poem poet poetic political pretty Prince Quarterly Queen Quincey reader Regent Review ROBERT SOUTHEY royal says Shelley Sir Robert Peel Smailholme Tower Southey speech story sweet Sydney Smith talk tell Thalaba thee things thou thought tion touch Tweed verse voice Walter Scott wife wild William William Hazlitt wonder Wordsworth writes wrote young
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Сторінка 144 - Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An Angel, writing in a book of gold.' Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold ; And to the presence in the room, he said, — 'What writest thou?' The Vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord Answered, 'The names of those who love the Lord.
Сторінка 19 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our Fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks.
Сторінка 11 - They say it was a shocking sight after the field was won; for many thousand bodies here lay rotting in the sun; but things like that, you know, must be after a famous victory. Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, and our good Prince Eugene. "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" said little Wilhelmine. "Nay... nay... my little girl," quoth he, "it was a famous victory.
Сторінка 62 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains, and of all that we behold From this green earth...
Сторінка 219 - Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth...
Сторінка 54 - Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time Sarmatia fell unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe...
Сторінка 220 - Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in...
Сторінка 186 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his...
Сторінка 255 - Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace." Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he ; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. "O Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge this day!
Сторінка 203 - Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.