The Reminiscences of a Very Old Man, 1808-1897D. Appleton, 1899 - 297 стор. |
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admirable afterwards American appeared artist asked beautiful bells Benjamin West Blake boys building called canvas character Charles Chestnut Street church colour copy corner course daughter dollars door drawing Edgar Allan Poe engraved erected exhibition eyes father feet finished fire front gallery gate girl Holst Hyde Park Inman interest John Neagle John Sartain John Varley Kemble Kemble Family knew known lady London Bridge looked mezzotint Miss Mortram mother never night opposite Ottley painted painter Pat Lyon Pennsylvania Academy Philadelphia picture plate portrait possession present published Queen Rebecca Gratz received remember Richter river road scene seen side soon stood Stothard Sully surprise theatre Theodore von Holst thing Thomas Dunn English Thomas Stothard Thomas Sully thought tion told took ture wall West William York young
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Сторінка 200 - Most writers - poets in especial - prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy - an ecstatic intuition - and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought - at the true purposes seized only at the last moment - at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view - at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable - at the cautious selections...
Сторінка 35 - They did promise and vow three things in my name. First, that I should renounce the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh.
Сторінка 204 - For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone...
Сторінка 203 - 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 205 - Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells; Of the bells, bells, bells— To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells; Of the bells, bells, bells— To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Сторінка 287 - Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales, At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales ; Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, Completed Faust when eighty years were past.
Сторінка 288 - What then ? Shall we sit idly down and say The night hath come; it is no longer day ? The night hath not yet come; we are not quite Cut off from labor by the failing light; Something remains for us to do or dare; Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear...
Сторінка 211 - Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of 'Mother', Therefore by that dear name I long have called you You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you, In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother - my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the...
Сторінка 288 - For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Сторінка 200 - ... a species of fine frenzy — an ecstatic intuition; and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought, at the true purposes seized only at the last moment, at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view, at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable, at the cautious selections and rejections, at the painful erasures and interpolations — in a word, at the...