The North British review1851 |
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psl.
... Present Prices . By the Rev. A. Huxtable . London , 1849 . 2. Mr. Huxtable and his Pigs . By Porcius . Edinburgh , 1850 . 3. High Farming the best Substitute for Protection . By J. Caird of Baldoon . Edinburgh , 1849 . 4. Caird's High ...
... Present Prices . By the Rev. A. Huxtable . London , 1849 . 2. Mr. Huxtable and his Pigs . By Porcius . Edinburgh , 1850 . 3. High Farming the best Substitute for Protection . By J. Caird of Baldoon . Edinburgh , 1849 . 4. Caird's High ...
1 psl.
... Present , were but so many addresses or trumpet - blasts to the age , in which marvellous literary tact and ability were compelled into the service of a predominant moral purpose . In his Oliver Cromwell , too , though here the artist ...
... Present , were but so many addresses or trumpet - blasts to the age , in which marvellous literary tact and ability were compelled into the service of a predominant moral purpose . In his Oliver Cromwell , too , though here the artist ...
3 psl.
... Present , were but so many addresses or trumpet - blasts to the age , in which marvellous literary tact and ability were compelled into the service of a predominant moral purpose . In his Oliver Cromwell , too , though here the artist ...
... Present , were but so many addresses or trumpet - blasts to the age , in which marvellous literary tact and ability were compelled into the service of a predominant moral purpose . In his Oliver Cromwell , too , though here the artist ...
6 psl.
... , we fancy the display would be something fearful . In short , at the present moment , Mr. Carlyle is unpopular with at least one half of the kingdom . Reception of the Pamphlets . Now , this is no 6 Carlyle's Latter - Day Pamphlets .
... , we fancy the display would be something fearful . In short , at the present moment , Mr. Carlyle is unpopular with at least one half of the kingdom . Reception of the Pamphlets . Now , this is no 6 Carlyle's Latter - Day Pamphlets .
13 psl.
... Present Time , pp . 31 , 32 . The two Chelsea Cobblers . 66 Incompetent Duncan M'Pastehorn , the hapless incompetent mortal to whom I give the cobbling of my boots , -and cannot find in my heart to refuse it , the poor drunken wretch ...
... Present Time , pp . 31 , 32 . The two Chelsea Cobblers . 66 Incompetent Duncan M'Pastehorn , the hapless incompetent mortal to whom I give the cobbling of my boots , -and cannot find in my heart to refuse it , the poor drunken wretch ...
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Academy Accademia della Crusca Adolphe Monod assertion Association Boccaccio British called Carlyle century character Christ Christian colleges Confession consistories constitution Crusca Dante Decameron dictionary Doddridge Edinburgh edition effect England English Ethics existence fact faith farmers favour feeling flax Florentine Florentine dialect Florentine language France Frédéric Monod free-trade friends give gold Government honour human Hunt Hunt's interest Italian Italian language Italy John Stoddart La Rochelle labour language language of Italy latitudinarianism learning Leigh Hunt less literary manure means ment mind moral nature Neander never objects opinion Oxford pamphlet pastors philosophers poem poet practical present principles produce Professor Low proposition readers Salviati scientific social society speak speech spirit Tasso thing thought tion true truth Tuscany University whole words writing
Populiarios ištraukos
28 psl. - How think ye? if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray. And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.
164 psl. - But now afflictions bow me down to earth; Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth; But oh! each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my birth. My shaping spirit of Imagination.
315 psl. - Neither do men put new wine into old bottles : else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out, and the bottles perish : but they put new wine into new bottles, and both are preserved.
474 psl. - Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a...
443 psl. - The name of the first is Pison : that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold ; and the gold of that land is good : there is bdellium and the onyx stone.
348 psl. - LORD of the Sabbath, hear our vows On this thy day, in this thy house ; And own, as grateful sacrifice, The songs which from the desert rise. 2 Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love ; But there's a nobler rest above ; To that our laboring souls aspire, With ardent pangs of strong desire.
414 psl. - And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
499 psl. - Nor thro' the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun : If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice, "Believe no more," And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the godless deep; A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answer'd, "I have felt.
502 psl. - Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace : Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase, And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet ; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
474 psl. - But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.