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Page 156 - That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.
Page 357 - It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition in fixed eyes, Lifting distressful hands as if to bless. And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;...
Page 168 - Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
Page 285 - HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold...
Page 46 - Every language has its anomalies, which though inconvenient and in themselves once unnecessary must be tolerated among the imperfections of human things, and which require only to be registered that they may not be increased; and ascertained, that they may not be confounded; but every language has likewise its improprieties and absurdities, which it is the duty of the lexicographer to correct or proscribe.
Page 153 - OLD King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.
Page 640 - Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
Page 335 - For Mr. Whistler's own sake, no less than for the protection of the purchaser, Sir Coutts Lindsay ought not to have admitted works into the gallery in which the ill-educated conceit of the artist so nearly approached the aspect of wilful imposture.
Page 584 - Vain Desires, And Vice, with the spoils upon him Of thee and thy beaten sires, "While Kings of eternal evil Yet darken the hills about, Thy part is with broken sabre To rise on the last redoubt, "To fear not sensible failure, Nor covet the game at all, But fighting, fighting, fighting, Die, driven against the wall!