"Sydney's" Letter to the King: And Other Correspondence, Connected with the Reported Exclusion of Lord Byron's Monument from Westminster Abbey

J. Cawthorn, 1828 - 56 pàgines

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Pàgina 26 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone.
Pàgina 50 - But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will, Till our mortality predominates, And men are — what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other.
Pàgina 27 - Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood ! Unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of Beauty be. If thou regret'st thy youth, why live ? The land of honourable death Is here. Up, to the field, and give Away thy breath ! Seek out (less often sought than found) A soldier's grave, for thee the best ! Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest ! PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
Pàgina 34 - God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, and force the way; And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
Pàgina 26 - The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain. But 'tis not thus — and 'tis not here — Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow.
Pàgina 49 - As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth, And they have only taught him what we know — That knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.
Pàgina 50 - My mother Earth! And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, That openest over all, and unto all Art a delight— thou shin'st not on my heart.
Pàgina 27 - If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? The land of honourable death Is here: — up to the Field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldiers grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy Rest.

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