The history of England [by J.A. Hessey].

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1858
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Стр. 187 - Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge, enough The characters of hell to trace: Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king!
Стр. 135 - Giving no offence in any thing, that the ministry be not blamed; but in all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments...
Стр. 190 - Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Стр. 194 - But oh! my country's wintry state What second spring shall renovate? What powerful call shall bid arise The buried warlike and the wise, The mind that thought for Britain's weal, The hand that grasped the victor steel?
Стр. 186 - On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air) ; And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Стр. 185 - Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears...
Стр. 187 - Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
Стр. 187 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Стр. 194 - NELSON'S shrine ; And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb ! Deep graved in every British heart, O never let those names depart ! Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, Who victor died on Gadite wave; To him, as to the burning levin.
Стр. 96 - Religion agreed upon by the archbishops and bishops of both provinces and the whole clergy in the convocation holden at London in the year of our Lord God...

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