The Table Talk and Omniana of Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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˹éÒ 310 - Etrurian shades High overarched embower; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry. While with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcasses And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown. Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He called so loud that all the hollow deep Of hell resounded...
˹éÒ 309 - By four Cherubic shapes. Four faces each Had wondrous; as with stars, their bodies all And wings were set with eyes ; with eyes the wheels Of beryl, and careering fires between...
˹éÒ 468 - Licence they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that must first be wise and good ; But from that mark how far they rove we see, For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.
˹éÒ 449 - Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
˹éÒ 262 - Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth: for the LORD hath spoken, I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.
˹éÒ 189 - IV. Forgive me, Freedom ! O forgive those dreams ! I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, From bleak Helvetia's icy cavern sent — I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams ! Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished, And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows With bleeding wounds ; forgive me, that I cherished...
˹éÒ 331 - He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came and drew The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors...
˹éÒ 195 - Tarsus, bound for th' isles Of Javan or Gadire, With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, Sails fill'd, and streamers waving, Courted by all the winds that hold them play...
˹éÒ 293 - The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers. Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry " Hold, hold !
˹éÒ 220 - This beauty, in the blossom of my youth, When my first fire knew no adulterate incense, Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness, In all the bravery my friends could...