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Side 125 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow • warmer among...
Side 123 - Merrily, merrily, goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round.
Side 124 - Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A Minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolonged and high, That mocks the organ's melody.
Side 349 - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen and From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade and Strong hand that bears one.
Side 44 - That man of loneliness and mystery, Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
Side 96 - He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. 400 Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
Side 303 - Stop ! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory?
Side 134 - Ours with one pang — one bound — escapes control. His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave, And they who loathed his life may gild his grave : Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
Side 361 - Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore, Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride.