Paul's Letters to His Kinsfolk

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J. Ballantyne and Company, 1816 - 468 Seiten
 

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Seite 353 - Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for the which thou hast not laboured, neither madest it grow ; which came up in a night, and perished in a night. And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than six score thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand, and also much cattle ?
Seite 263 - Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait ! Amazement in his van, with flight combined, And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Seite 168 - Believe me," he afterwards said, " that nothing, excepting a battle lost, can be half so melancholy as a battle won. The bravery of my troops has hitherto saved me from that greater evil ; but, to win...
Seite 402 - In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased Her plaint; The solitary place was glad, And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
Seite 18 - And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin, Wove like a diadem its tracery round The lofty summit of that mountain green ; Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene.
Seite 403 - We have a little sister, and she hath no breasts; what shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for?
Seite 154 - You are uncommonly savage to-day,' said an officer to his friend, a young man of rank, who was arming himself with a third sabre, after two had been broken in his grasp.
Seite 31 - I'm resolved to search for thee; The search itself rewards the pains. So, though the chymic his great secret miss (For neither it in Art or Nature is), Yet things well worth his toil he gains: And does his charge and labour pay With good unsought experiments by the way.
Seite 419 - His marvellous preservation had transformed him. Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted And privileged being, and, as if he were Incapable of dizziness or fall, He ran along the unsteady rope of life. But now our destinies drove us asunder: He paced with rapid step the way of greatness, Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, and Dictator. And now is all, all this too little for him ; He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, And plunges in unfathomable ruin.
Seite 63 - I on a sledge be drawn, And mangled by a hind, I do defy the traitor's power ; He cannot harm my mind : ' What though, uphoisted on a pole, My limbs shall rot in air, And no rich monument of brass Charles Bawdin's name shall bear...

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