This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1853 edition. Excerpt: ...smiling deep With the black besom of its boisterous breath, Waking to strife the slumbering waves, that leap In battling surges from their beds beneath, Yawning and swelling from their liquid caves, Like buried giants from their restless graves: --He who has gazed on sights and scenes like these, Hath looked ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1853 edition. Excerpt: ...smiling deep With the black besom of its boisterous breath, Waking to strife the slumbering waves, that leap In battling surges from their beds beneath, Yawning and swelling from their liquid caves, Like buried giants from their restless graves: --He who has gazed on sights and scenes like these, Hath looked on nature in her maddest mood; But nature's warfare passes by degrees, --The thunder's voice is hushed, however rude, The dying winds unclasp the raging seas, The scowling sky throws back her cloud-capt hood, The infant lightnings to their cradles creep, And the gaunt earthquake rocks herself to sleep. I But (here are storms, whose lightnings ever glare, Tempests, whose thunders never cease to roll--The storms of love, when maddened to despair, The furious tempests of the jealous soul. That kamsin of the heart, which few can bear, Which owns no limit, and which knows no goal, Whose blast leaves joy a tomb, and hope a speck, Reason a blank, and happiness a wreck. TRANSLATION FROM HORACES ODE TO LYDIA. When Telephus, his youthful charms, His rosy neck, and winding arms, With endless rapture you recite, And in the pleasing name delight; My heart, inflamed by jealous heats, With numberless resentments beats; From my pale cheek the color flies, And all the man within me dies. By turns my hidden grief appears, In rising sighs and falling tears, That show too well the warm desires, The silent, slow, consuming fires, Which on my inmost vitals prey, And melt my very soul away. ANNE BOLEYN. BY MILMAN. I SAW it--'Twas no foul vision--with unblinded eyes saw it: his fond hands, as once in mine, Were wreathed in hers, he gazed upon her face Even with those fatal eyes no woman looks at--f know it! ah! too well--nor madly dote. That eloquence, the self-same...
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Seller's Description:
Engraved frontis, 5 x 3.5, gilt patterned cloth, aeg, 288 pp, covers very worn, extremities bumped and fraying, spine ends chipping, hinges loose, contents with scattered foxing (esp frontis), a sad little book but it once was quite a nice little gift book.
