Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Інші видання - Показати все
admiration ancient appear army battle beauty Belisarius blood body British Buonaparte called celebrated character Cicero colours Columbus command death delight died dreadful Duke earth Edition enemies England English Europe father favour fire flowers fluid France French friends genius glory gold Greek hand heart heaven Herbert Knowles honour Horace Walpole horse human Isaac Newton king Lady Jane Grey Latin Lesson light lived London Lord Lord Nelson ment metals mind moon Mount Vesuvius mountains nations nature never night noble o'er passed passions Petrarch pleasure poet poetry possessed prince Queen racter reign rise river Robert Adam rock Roman Scythians ships silver Sir John Moore soldiers sound Spain specific gravity spirit sweet talents taste thee thing thou thought throne tion troops vessel victory whole writings youth Zenaida dove
Сторінка 55 - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling Morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Сторінка 55 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair : thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these Heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Сторінка 23 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...
Сторінка 215 - Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what! weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd as you see, with traitors.
Сторінка 158 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm...
Сторінка 157 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year...
Сторінка 215 - And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Сторінка 86 - I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. In the evening I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate.
Сторінка 366 - After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.