C. Scribner's Sons, 1924 - 474 pages
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Page 88 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.
Page 289 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Page 304 - To torture thus each other, though it were The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. Say that thou loath'st me not, that I do bear This punishment for both, that thou wilt be One of the blessed, and that I shall die ; For hitherto all hateful things conspire To bind me in existence — in a life Which makes me shrink from immortality — A future like the past.
Page 251 - Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And whatever sky 's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. " Though the ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on ; Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won.
Page 305 - She had the same, lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the universe; nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not; And tenderness — but that I had for her ; Humility — and that I never had. Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own — I loved her, and destroy'd her ! WITCH.
Page 312 - I say that Maddalo is proud, because I can find no other word to express the concentered and impatient feelings which consume him; but it is on his own hopes and affections only that he seems to trample, for in social life no human being can be more gentle, patient, and unassuming than Maddalo. He is cheerful, frank, and witty. His more serious conversation is a sort of intoxication; men are held by it as by a spell. He has travelled much ; and there is an inexpressible charm in his relation of his...
Page 288 - Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd.
Page 298 - So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving. And the moon be still as bright.
Page 306 - Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need — The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me, — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Page 186 - Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale The sable curls in wild profusion veil; And oft perforce his rising lip reveals The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien Still seems there something he would not have seen His features...