Romance

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Princeton University Press, 1916 - 84 Seiten
 

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Seite 32 - To suffer woes which hope thinks infinite ; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night ; To defy power which seems omnipotent ; To love and bear ; to hope till hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates...
Seite 54 - Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war...
Seite 21 - These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country. And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned. But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called...
Seite 54 - But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Seite 83 - purge off, Benign, if so it please thee, my mind's film.' 'None can usurp this height,' returned that shade, 'But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
Seite 81 - Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Where tossed about all hearts of men must be ; Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day.
Seite 83 - And thou art here, for thou art less than they. What benefit canst thou do, or all thy tribe, To the great world ? Thou art a dreaming thing, A fever of thyself : think of the earth ; What bliss, even in hope, is there for thee ? What haven ? every creature hath its home, Every sole man hath days of joy and pain, Whether his labours be sublime or low — The pain alone, the joy alone, distinct • Only the dreamer venoms all his days, Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve.
Seite 49 - Ethiop's arm. See on the mountain's southern side, Where the prospect opens wide, Where the evening gilds the tide, How close and small the hedges lie, What streaks of meadows cross the eye! A step methinks may pass the stream, So little distant dangers seem; So we mistake the future's face Eyed through Hope's deluding glass...
Seite 64 - Thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view : Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm ; Others, whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true. If true, here only, and of delicious taste.
Seite 55 - We have before observed, that there is generally in nature something more grand and august than what we meet with in the curiosities of art. When, therefore, we see this imitated in any measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of pleasure than what we receive from the nicer and more accurate productions of art.

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