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No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
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Pàgina 259 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Pàgina 274 - There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes - the cloud And mists that spread the flying shroud; And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past; But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Pàgina 224 - Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential ; happier far Than miserable to have eternal being : Or, if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst...
Pàgina 517 - NICOLINI'S History of the Jesuits : their Origin, Progress, Doctrines, and Designs. With 8 Portraits. 5*. NORTH (R.) Lives of the Right Hon. Francis North, Baron Guildford, the Hon. Sir Dudley North, and the Hon. and Rev. Dr. John North. By the Hon. Roger North. Together with the Autobiography of the Author. Edited by Augustus Jessopp, DD 3 vols. 3^. 6d.
Pàgina 276 - Oh ! many are the Poets that are sown By Nature ; men endowed with highest gifts, The vision and the faculty divine ; .Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse...
Pàgina 274 - Rides high ; then all the upper air they fill With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow, Like smoke, along the level of the blast, In mighty current ; theirs, too, is the song Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails ; And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon, Methinks that I have heard them echo back The thunder's greeting...
Pàgina 406 - Their notion of its perfect rest. A convent, even a hermit's cell, Would break the silence of this dell : It is not quiet, is not ease ; But something deeper far than these : The separation that is here Is of the grave ; and of austere Yet happy feelings of the dead : And, therefore, was it rightly said That Ossian, last of all his race ! Lies buried in this lonely place.
Pàgina 244 - While richest roses, though in crimson drest, Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast. What heavenly tints in mingling radiance fly ! Each rapid movement gives a different dye. Like scales of burnished gold they dazzling show — Now sink to shade — now like a furnace glow.