Classic rhapsodies. Random reminiscences. Miscellanies. Poetical parodies

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Gould, Banks & Company, 1842

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Стр. 204 - Who, from the terror of this arm, so late Doubted his empire — that were low indeed; That were an ignominy and shame beneath This downfall; since by fate the strength of Gods, And this empyreal substance, cannot fail; Since, through experience of this great event, In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcilable to our grand Foe, Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy Sole reigning holds the tyranny...
Стр. 203 - What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome?
Стр. 206 - Main reason to persuade immediate war Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success,* When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels and in what excels Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
Стр. 81 - A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at ! Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, Where either I must live, or bear no life...
Стр. 101 - Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Стр. 163 - Jack Sprat could eat no fat, / His wife could eat no lean; / And so between them both, you see, / They licked the platter clean.
Стр. 95 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free.
Стр. 206 - My sentence is for open war : of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not : them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now...
Стр. 204 - Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue. But he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears: 530 Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared
Стр. 226 - Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid sound Has raised up his head; As awaked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around. Revenge, revenge!

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