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affection already answer appear Author become believe better Book Burns called century character clear consider continue Countess Court dark deep Earth England English existence fact father feeling fire followed force genius give given grand hand head heart highest History hope human interest Johnson kind Lamotte least less lies light Literature living look man's manner matter means mind Monseigneur nature Necklace never nevertheless night noble once passed perhaps persons poet poetry poor present produced question reader Respectability rest round Scott seems seen sense side sort soul speak spirit stand strange strength sure thee things thou thought true truth universal Walter whole wonder worth writing written
Сторінка 24 - The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and •cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it.
Сторінка 7 - Such grace and truth of external movement, too, presupposes in general a corresponding force and truth of sentiment and inward meaning. The Songs of Burns are not more perfect in the former quality than in the latter. With what tenderness he sings, yet with what vehemence and...
Сторінка 6 - But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — Still hae a stake : I'm wae to think upo...
Сторінка 3 - ... amidst, that he describes: those scenes, rude and humble as they are, have kindled beautiful emotions in his soul, noble thoughts, and definite resolves; and he speaks forth what is in him, not from any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his heart is too full to be silent. He speaks it with such melody and modulation as he can; ' in homely rustic jingle ; ' but it is his own, and genuine.
Сторінка 11 - Dumfries one fine summer evening about this time to attend a county ball, he saw Burns walking alone, on the shady side of the principal street of the town, while the opposite side was gay with successive groups of gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the festivities of the night, not one of whom appeared willing to recognise him. The horseman dismounted, and joined Burns, who on his proposing to cross the street said: ' Nay, nay, my young friend, that's all over now; ' and quoted, after...
Сторінка 5 - Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the ^Eolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident; or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod ? I own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important realities : a God that made all things, man's immaterial and immortal nature, and a world of weal or wo beyond death and the grave.
Сторінка 3 - The excellence of Burns is, indeed, among the rarest, whether in poetry or prose; but, at the same time, it is plain and easily recognised: his Sincerity, his indisputable air of Truth. Here are no fabulous woes or joys; no hollow fantastic sentimentalities; no wiredrawn refinings, either in thought or feeling : the passion that is traced before us has glowed in a living heart; the opinion he utters has risen in his own understanding, and been a light to his own steps.
Сторінка 5 - All the faculties of Burns's mind were, as far as I could judge, equally vigorous ; and his predilection for poetry was rather the result of his own enthusiastic and impassioned temper, than of a genius exclusively adapted to that species of composition.
Сторінка 4 - ... of a hero. Tears lie in him, and consuming fire; as lightning lurks in the drops of the summer cloud. He has a resonance in his bosom for every note of human feeling; the high and the low, the sad, the ludicrous, the joyful, are welcome in their turns to his " lightlymoved and all-conceiving spirit.
Сторінка 3 - a man of keen vision, before whom common disguises afforded no concealment. His understanding saw through the hollowness even of accomplished deceivers ; but there was a generous credulity in his heart. And so did our Peasant show himself among us ; ' a soul like an folian harp, in whose strings the vulgar wind, as it passed through them, changed itself into articulate melody.