Lethè and other poems, ed. by G.S. Faber

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Seeley, Burnside and Seeley, 1844 - 229 páginas
 

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Página 199 - In thoughts from the visions of the night, When deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; The hair of my flesh stood up...
Página 201 - Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee. Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to fear him. For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills...
Página 199 - The other Shape — If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either — black it stood as Night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart: what seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Página 208 - bootless been" is unavailing prayer ; and the meaning, though imperfectly expressed, seems to have been, " What remains when prayer is useless ?" This misfortnne is said to have occasioned the translation of the priory from Embsay to Bolton, which was the nearest eligible site to the place where it happened.
Página 208 - ... What is good for a bootless Bene ? To which the mother, apprehending that some great calamity had befallen her son, instantly replied ; Endless sorrow. " The language of this question, almost unintelligible at present, proves the antiquity of the story, which nearly amounts to proving its truth. But Bootless Bene is Unavailing Prayer : and the meaning, though imperfectly expressed, seems to have been; What remains when prayer is useless...
Página 208 - This place was then, as it is yet, called the Strid, from a feat often exercised by persons of more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step. Such...
Página 207 - In the deep solitude of the woods, betwixt Bolton and Barden, four miles up the river, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel, little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a rapidity proportioned to its confinement. The place was then, as it is yet, called the...

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