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" And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with... "
The British Drama: pt. 1-2. Tragedies - Сторінка 279
1804
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Specimens of the British Poets

Thomas Campbell - 1844 - 846 стор.
...terror on my aching sight ; the tornbs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me...Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — шу own affrights me with its echoes.» [* This is tho passago that Johnson admired so much. "Congrevc,"...
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The poets of Yorkshire, commenced by W.C. Newsam; complete and publ. by J ...

William Cartwright Newsam - 1845 - 264 стор.
...terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a clullness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me...Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes. LAWRENCE EUSDEN. YOKKSHIRE supplied one name to the list of Poets Laureate, in the subject of this...
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Elocution, Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy: Involving the Principles of ...

C. P. Bronson - 1845 - 390 стор.
...terror on my aching sight. [cold, The tombs, and monumental caves of death, look And shool a ehillntss to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me...speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own &f-frights me with its echoes. Tis night! the season when the happy — take Repose, and only witches...
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Elocution, Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy: Involving the Principles of ...

C. P. Bronson - 1845 - 396 стор.
...terror on my aching sight. [rr / /. The tombs, and monumental caves of death, look And shoot a chiUness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me...voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy roi« — my own uf-frights me with its echoes. Tis night! the season when the happy — take Repose,...
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Elocution, Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy: Involving the Principles of ...

C. P. Bronson - 1845 - 334 стор.
...terror on my aching sight. [coW* The tombs, and monumental caves of death, look And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, ouickty speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice—my own al'-frights me with its echoes. Tis night!...
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The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL. D.: With an Essay on His Life and Genius, Том 2

Samuel Johnson, Arthur Murphy - 1846 - 714 стор.
...terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice j Nay, quickly speak to me, and let Die hear Thy voice— my own affrights me with Its echoM He who...
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First Impressions of England and Its People

Hugh Miller - 1847 - 454 стор.
...on the aching sight: the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chilness to the trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear...Thy voice : my own affrights me with its echoes." But though I felt the poetry of the edifice, so little had my Presbyterian education led me to associate...
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First Impressions of England and Its People

Hugh Miller - 1851 - 438 стор.
...on the aching sight : the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to the trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear....Thy voice : my own affrights me with its echoes." But though I felt the poetry of the edifice, so little had my Presbyterian education led me to associate...
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The Literature and the Literary Men of Great Britain and Ireland, Том 2

Abraham Mills - 1851 - 616 стор.
...terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand and let me...me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights mo with its echoes. Lam. Let us return ; the horror of this place And silence will increase your melancholy....
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The Literature and the Literary Men of Great Britain and Ireland, Том 2

Abraham Mills - 1851 - 616 стор.
...terror on my aching sight; tho tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand and let me...voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice—my own affrights me with its echoes. Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place And silence...
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