The dramatic works of James Sheridan Knowles, Volume 1

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Page 170 - Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose smile Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again! I call to you With all my voice! I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free...
Page 170 - Scaling yonder peak, I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow, O'er the abyss. His broad expanded wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air, As if he floated there without their aid, By the sole act of his unlorded will, That buoyed him proudly up.
Page 186 - I sat In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed The thunder...
Page 225 - GES. That is your ground. Now shall they measure thence A hundred paces. Take the distance. TELL. Is the line a true one ? GES. True or not, what is't to thee? TELL. What is't to me? A little thing, A very little thing — a yard or two Is nothing here or there — were it a wolf I shot at.
Page 227 - Tell. How looks he? Ver. Clear and smilingly. If you doubt it, look yourself. Tell. No, no, my friend : To hear it is enough. Ver. He bears himself so much above his years — Tell. I know ! I know ! Ver. With constancy so modest — Tell. I was sure he would — Ver.
Page 216 - Tell. Ay; They watch no more the avalanche. Ges. Why so? Tell. Because they look for thee! The hurricane Comes unawares upon them ; from its bed The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track— Ges. What do they, then ? Tell. Thank heaven, it is not thou ! Thou hast perverted nature in them.
Page 226 - I cannot see to shoot against the sun — I will not shoot against the sun! Ges. Give him his way! Thou hast cause to bless my mercy. Tell. I shall remember it.
Page 228 - tis better than the first, But yet not good enough for such an aim As I'm to take.
Page 229 - QALBERT opens his father's vest, and an arrow drops — TELL starts, fixes his eyes on ALBERT, and clasps him to his breast. Tell. My boy ! my boy ! Ges. For what Hid you that arrow in your breast ? Speak, slave ! Tell.
Page 214 - He grasps His chains as he would make a weapon of them To lay the smiter dead. What kind of man Is this, that looks in thraldom more at large Than they who lay it on him ? Rod.

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