Chambers's Cyclopaedia of English Literature: A History Critical and Biographical of Authors in the English Tongue from the Earliest Times Till the Present Day, with Specimens of Their Writing, Том 3
W. & R. Chambers, 1903
Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Інші видання - Показати все
appeared beauty became born brought Byron called character Church critic dark death deep early earth Edinburgh edition England English Essays eyes father feeling followed give hand head heard heart heaven hope hour human imagination interest Italy John kind known Lady land leave less letters light literary literature lived London look Lord mind morning nature never night novels o'er once original passed person poems poet poetic poetry political poor popular present published round Scott seems seen side song soul spirit story success sweet thee things thou thought tion took true truth turned University verse vols volumes whole wonder writing written wrote young
Сторінка 428 - The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Сторінка 25 - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Сторінка 105 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Сторінка 139 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Сторінка 145 - I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
Сторінка 104 - O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'da long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora...
Сторінка 116 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Сторінка 67 - My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man — This was my sole resource, my only plan : Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
Сторінка 104 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, > Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...