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Page 396 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity: Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew : The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Page 386 - Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleave* of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast ; — Lady M.
Page 450 - See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command...
Page 391 - O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.
Page 397 - They wrought in sad sincerity. Themselves from God they could not free ; They builded better than they knew ; The conscious stones to beauty grew.
Page 76 - Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe.
Page 309 - Who steals my purse steals trash ; 't is something, nothing ; T was mine, 't is his, and hath been slave to thousands : But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that WHICH NOT ENRICHES HIM, BUT MAKES ME POOR INDEED.
Page 369 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Page 441 - But, now that you have done so much for America, now that you have made it all your own, what do you propose to do for Ireland? How long do you propose to let her be the political football of England? Poor down-trodden, oppressed Ireland! Hereditary bondsmen! Know you not who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?