Half-hours with the best authors, selected by C. Knight, Volume 3

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Página 100 - 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.
Página 191 - Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year...
Página 401 - This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish. For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work. But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy.
Página 90 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Página 192 - If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable!
Página 90 - Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white.
Página 96 - They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream,! To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze...
Página 18 - Lords and Commons of England, consider what nation it is whereof ye are and whereof ye are the governors : a nation not slow and dull, but of a quick, ingenious, and piercing spirit, acute to invent, subtle and sinewy to discourse, not beneath the reach of any point the highest that human capacity can soar to.
Página 100 - Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree ? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray — O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway.
Página 91 - With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! I bit my arm, I sucked .the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call : Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel!

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