The National Review, Том 16

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Richard Holt Hutton, Walter Bagehot
Robert Theobald, 1863
 

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Сторінка 85 - To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates...
Сторінка 468 - For we know in part, and we prophesy in part: but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away.
Сторінка 481 - That saith of Cyrus, He is my shepherd, And shall perform all my pleasure: Even saying to Jerusalem, Thou shalt be built; And to the temple, Thy foundation shall be laid.
Сторінка 80 - Through the clouds ere they divide them; And this atmosphere divinest Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. Fair are others; none beholds thee, <• But thy voice sounds low and tender Like the fairest, for it folds thee From the sight, that liquid splendour, And all feel, yet see thee never, As I feel now, lost for ever!
Сторінка 70 - While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.
Сторінка 70 - Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps, And my heart ever gazes on the depth Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won from thee, Hoping to still these obstinate questionings Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost, Thy messenger, to render up the tale Of what we are.
Сторінка 65 - The rocks are cloven, and through the purple night I see cars drawn by rainbow-winged steeds Which trample the dim winds: in each there stands A wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight. Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there, And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars: Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink With eager lips the wind of their own speed. As if the thing they loved fled on before, And now, even now, they clasped it. Their bright locks Stream like a comet's flashing...
Сторінка 64 - Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
Сторінка 66 - When the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead — When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
Сторінка 69 - Epipsychidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles ; you might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as expect anything human or earthly from me.

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