Tom Cringle's Log

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George Routledge and Sons, 1835 - 432 páginas

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Página 25 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial sleep!
Página 312 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Página 290 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...
Página 225 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure...
Página 296 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
Página 350 - t be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. Sir, in this audience, Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house And hurt my brother.
Página 231 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Página 173 - Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
Página 190 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Página 296 - Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene : (A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;) So sweet a spot of earth you might, (I ween) Have guessed some congregation of the elves To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themselves...

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