Black and Gold; or, the Signal Scarf. A new edition

Forside
George Routledge and Sons, 1865 - 373 sider

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Side 97 - Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? »the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage : neither believeth he that it is the sound...
Side 70 - At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise He lights, and to his proper shape returns A seraph wing'd : six wings he wore, to shade His lineaments divine : the pair that clad Each shoulder broad came mantling o'er his breast With regal ornament ; the middle pair Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold And colours dipp'd in heaven ; the third his feet Shadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia's son he stood, And shook...
Side 232 - And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
Side 47 - Unfading as motionless, the worm frets them not, and the autumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither blanch in heat nor pine in frost. To them, slow-fingered, constant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal tapestries of the hills ; to them, slow-pencilled, iris-eyed, the tender framing of their endless imagery.
Side 232 - Thus saith the LORD, which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters...
Side 70 - Down thither prone in flight He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing: Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan Winnows the buxom air...
Side 204 - I praise the Frenchman*, his remark was shrewd — How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper — solitude is sweet.
Side 115 - I was all ear, !(« And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death.
Side 175 - I saw by night, and behold a man riding upon a red horse, and he stood among the myrtle trees that were in the bottom ; and behind him were there red horses, speckled, and white.
Side 47 - Sharing the stillness of the unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance ; and while the winds of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its...

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