The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volumen23

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Página 318 - I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. [Laying his hand on his sword.\ Thus am I doubly arm'd ; my death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me.
Página 213 - Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy.
Página 317 - Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, — And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue; And that which He delights in must be happy.
Página 90 - Not the rough whirlwind that deforms Adria's black gulf and vexes it with storms, The stubborn virtue of his soul can move ; Not the red arm of angry Jove, That flings the thunder from the sky, And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly. Should the whole frame of nature round him break, In ruin, and confusion hurl'd, He, unconcern'd would hear the mighty crack, And stand secure, amidst a falling world.
Página 325 - Lucius, art thou here ? — thou art too good ! — Let this our friendship live between our children; Make Portius .happy in thy daughter Lucia. Alas! poor man, he weeps! — Marcia, my daughter — — O bend me forward ! — Juba loves thee, Marcia.
Página 262 - Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ? No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Página 192 - This is wonderfully diverting to the understanding: thus to receive a precept that enters, as it were, through a by-way, and to apprehend an idea that draws a whole train after it.
Página 27 - Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, Can charm an understanding age no more; The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, While the dull moral lies too plain below.
Página 239 - And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day, big with the fate Of Cato and of Rome" Our father's death Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, And close the scene of blood. Already...
Página 143 - Who now appear'd but one continued wound. With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans, And fills the mountain with his dying groans. His servants with a piteous look he spies, And turns about his supplicating eyes.

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