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Page 226 - He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Page 232 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form. A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Page 233 - The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Page 260 - True love in this differs from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away.
Page 62 - For Heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings...
Page 160 - Requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise, And toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts, With fear and self-contempt and barren hope. Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate, Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn, 10 O'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge.
Page 259 - See where she stands ! a mortal shape indued With love and life and light and deity, And motion which may change but cannot die ; An image of some bright Eternity ; A shadow of some golden dream ; a Splendour Leaving the third sphere pilotless...
Page 279 - You should have known Shelley', said Byron, 'to feel how much I must regret him. He was the most gentle, most amiable, and least worldly-minded person I ever met; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all other men, and possessing a degree of genius, joined to a simplicity, as rare as it is admirable. He had formed to himself a beau ideal of all that is fine, high-minded, and noble, and he acted up to this ideal even to the very letter.
Page 49 - THE everlasting universe of Things Flows through the Mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark — now glittering — now reflecting gloom — Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters, — with a sound but half its own...