Elements of Criticism

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A.S. Barnes, 1870 - Počet stran: 486
 

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Strana 413 - With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds...
Strana 284 - Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Strana 413 - With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train: But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit...
Strana 258 - That for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin,) By their o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason...
Strana 382 - And I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned, nor digged; but there shall come up briers and thorns: I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it.
Strana 164 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Strana 261 - Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she, — O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules...
Strana 345 - The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean...
Strana 241 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Strana 150 - Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky With hideous ruin and combustion down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In adamantine* chains and penal fire, Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

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