Edgar Poe and His CriticsRudd & Carleton, 1860 - 81 стор. |
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acquaintance admired American apparent appearance artistic assumes beautiful believe bells brilliant brought character characteristic clear creations Critics dark dead death Demon desolate dream earnest Edgar Poe edited effects emotion English exists experience expression eyes face fearful fitness follow genius grand Griswold haunted heard heart human ideal ideas Illustrated imaginative indication individual intellect interest Ireland knew lady leading less letter lines listened literary literature live look marked memoir memory mental mind moral mysterious never North notice Observe original passed passionate period persons Poe's poem Poer poet poetic popular portrait prefixed present published rare Raven reader recent record regard relation remember Review says seemed sense significance simply sorrow soul sound spiritual stanzas story strange tells thing thought told truth Universe uttered volumes wife wonderful writings wrong York young
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Сторінка 51 - To Helen. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Сторінка 35 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Сторінка 63 - We cannot describe the natural history of the soul, but we know that it is divine. I cannot tell if these wonderful qualities which house to-day in this mortal frame, shall ever re-assemble in equal activity in a similar frame, or whether they have before had a natural history like that of this body you see before you; but this one thing I know, that these qualities did not now begin to exist, cannot be sick with my sickness, nor buried in any grave; but that they circulate through the Universe...
Сторінка 75 - I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have perilled life and reputation and reason. It has been in the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories — memories of wrong and injustice and imputed dishonour — from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.
Сторінка 67 - ... each soul is, in part, its own God - its own Creator : - in a word, that God - the material and spiritual God - now exists solely in the diffused Matter and Spirit of the Universe; and that the regathering of this diffused Matter and Spirit will be but the re-constitution of the purely Spiritual and Individual God.
Сторінка 59 - It is the desire of the moth for the star. It is no mere appreciation of the Beauty before us, but a wild effort to reach the Beauty above. Inspired by an ecstatic prescience of the glories beyond the grave, we struggle by multiform combinations among the things and thoughts of Time to attain a portion of that Loveliness whose very elements perhaps appertain to eternity alone.
Сторінка 23 - Raven" has produced a sensation, a "fit horror," here in England. Some of my friends are taken by the fear of it and some by the music. I hear of persons haunted by the
Сторінка 63 - Here we drift, like white sail across the wild ocean, now bright on the wave, now darkling in the trough of the sea; — but from what port did we sail? Who knows? Or to what port are we bound? Who knows? There is no one to tell us but such poor weather-tossed mariners as ourselves, whom we speak as we pass, or who have hoisted some signal, or floated to us some letter in a bottle from far.
Сторінка 39 - His conversation was at times almost supramortal in its eloquence. His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and his large and variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into theirs who listened, while his own face glowed, or was changeless in pallor, as his imagination quickened his blood or drew it back frozen to his heart His imagery was from the worlds which no mortals can see but with the vision of genius.
Сторінка 71 - I so regard them, through a conviction (which seems a portion of the ecstasy itself) that this ecstasy, in itself, is of a character supernal to the Human Nature — is a glimpse of the spirit's outer world...