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Seite 226 - Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state With daring aims irregularly great ; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by ; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagined right, above control, While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man.
Seite 38 - The grand object of travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those shores were the four great empires of the world ; the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. All our religion, almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all that sets us above savages, has come to us from the shores of the Mediterranean.
Seite 21 - He has sometimes suffered me to talk jocularly of his group of females, and call them his Seraglio. He thus mentions them, together with honest Levett, in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale : " Williams hates every body ; Levett hates Desmoulins, and does not love Williams ; Desmoulins hates them both ; Poll loves none of them.
Seite 195 - Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Seite 30 - Sir, they may talk of the King as they will ; but he is the finest gentleman I have ever seen.
Seite 203 - Yea, every thing that is and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty.
Seite 203 - Woods ! that listen to the night-birds' singing, Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches swinging Have made a solemn music of the wind ! Where, like a man beloved...
Seite 203 - Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches swinging, Have made a solemn music of the wind! Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!
Seite 29 - ... at the same time, on the nature and use of such works. The king asked him if it was well done now. Johnson answered, he had no reason to think that it was. The king then asked him if there were any other literary journals published in this kingdom, except the Monthly and Critical Reviews; and on being answered there...
Seite 55 - So morbid was his temperament that he never knew the natural joy of a free and vigorous use of his limbs ; when he walked, it was like the struggling gait of one in fetters; when he rode, he had no command or direction of his horse, but was carried as if in a balloon.