Knight's Quarterly Magazine, 第 2 卷Knight, 1824 |
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ALCIBIADES Alice ancient Apollonius appear Aristophanes astrology beautiful CALLICLES CALLIDEMUS canto Catalani cause Chaldæan character CHARICLEA charms Christian Chrysanthius court dæmons Dante dear death divine Divine Comedy doctrines dreams Edesius England English Eucharis Eumolpus Euripides evil eyes favour fear feelings friends genius gods Grecian happy heard heart heaven HIPPOMACHUS honour hope human Iamblichus imitation King lady Lanval liberty Lisle live look magic manner mind mountain mysteries Narenor nation nature never night object observation once opinions Parliament passed passion perhaps person Petrarch philosophers Philostratus Platonic Platonists Plotinus poem poet Polybius poor Porphyry prince Proclus Pythagoras racter reader religion rites Roman scarcely sect seemed Sir Lanval smile soul speak SPEUSIPPUS spirit sweet Syrianus thee theurgic thing thou thought Thucydides Tiberias tion truth voice words writers young Zoroaster
热门引用章节
第35页 - Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin ! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
第34页 - Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.
第450页 - You show us Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use; Yet shall, my lord, your just, your noble rules, Fill half the land with imitating fools ; Who random drawings from your sheets shall take; And of one beauty many blunders make...
第325页 - Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day; And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, Your perfum'd satin clothes, your catches and your oaths, Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?
第382页 - It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established: 'Twill be recorded for a precedent, And many an error by the same example Will rush into the state; it cannot be.
第301页 - That an accursed thing it is to gaze On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye...
第161页 - Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer's day, While smooth Adonis from his native rock 450 Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded...
第216页 - Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death — A universe of death ! which God by curse Created evil— for evil only good, Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, Abominable, inutterable, and worse Than fables yet have feigned, or fear conceived, Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire.
第35页 - D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, " Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe : Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
第35页 - Oh, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre? Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return ! Ho ! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! Ho ! burghers of St.