The Writings of James Russell Lowell: Literary essaysHoughton, Mifflin and Company, 1890 |
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Сторінка 15
... - portioned one to the other . Yet Bacon had no faith in his mother - tongue , translating the works on which his fame was to rest into what he called " the universal language , " and affirming that " SHAKESPEARE ONCE MORE 15.
... - portioned one to the other . Yet Bacon had no faith in his mother - tongue , translating the works on which his fame was to rest into what he called " the universal language , " and affirming that " SHAKESPEARE ONCE MORE 15.
Сторінка 16
James Russell Lowell. " the universal language , " and affirming that " Eng- lish would bankrupt all our books . " He was deemed a master of it , nevertheless ; and it is cu- rious that Ben Jonson applies to him in prose the same ...
James Russell Lowell. " the universal language , " and affirming that " Eng- lish would bankrupt all our books . " He was deemed a master of it , nevertheless ; and it is cu- rious that Ben Jonson applies to him in prose the same ...
Сторінка 17
... universal in its appeal to human nature , can make any language classic , and that the men whose appreciation is im- mortality will mine through any dialect to get at an original soul . He had as much confidence in his home - bred ...
... universal in its appeal to human nature , can make any language classic , and that the men whose appreciation is im- mortality will mine through any dialect to get at an original soul . He had as much confidence in his home - bred ...
Сторінка 26
... universal mould , " and embodied generic types rather than individuals . In this Cervantes alone has approached him ; and Don Quixote and Sancho , like the men and women of Shakespeare , are the contemporaries of every generation ...
... universal mould , " and embodied generic types rather than individuals . In this Cervantes alone has approached him ; and Don Quixote and Sancho , like the men and women of Shakespeare , are the contemporaries of every generation ...
Сторінка 33
... universal acceptation ; and thus all great authors seem the coevals not only of each other , but of whoever reads them , growing wiser with him as he grows wise , and unlocking to him one secret after another as his own life and ...
... universal acceptation ; and thus all great authors seem the coevals not only of each other , but of whoever reads them , growing wiser with him as he grows wise , and unlocking to him one secret after another as his own life and ...
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artist Aurengzebe beauty Ben Jonson better birds blank verse called Canterbury Tales character charm Châteaubriand Chaucer Coleridge conscious criticism Dante delightful doubt Dryden easy English epical poetry expression familiar fancy feeling force French genius give Goethe Greek Hamlet hint ideal imagination John Dryden Jonson judgment kind language Latin less literary literature living look Macbeth Marie de France meaning ment metrist Milton mind modern Molière moral nation never numbers once original Ovid passage passion perhaps phrase Piers Ploughman plain play poem poet poetic poetry Pope Preface prose Provençal rhyme Rutebeuf satire says seems sense sentiment Shake Shakespeare snow sometimes soul speak style sure sweet tells thing thou thought tion tragedy Trouvères true truth ture versification Voltaire vulgar whole wholly winter words Wordsworth writing wrote
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Сторінка 45 - This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BAN. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
Сторінка 109 - The lonely mountains o'er and the resounding shore a voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; from haunted spring and dale edged with poplar pale the parting Genius is with sighing sent; with flower-inwoven tresses torn the nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Сторінка 78 - If to do were as easy as to know what were^ good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
Сторінка 300 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Сторінка 121 - For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds ; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the...
Сторінка 106 - Oxford to him a dearer name shall be, Than his own mother university. Thebes did his green, unknowing youth engage; He chooses Athens in his riper age.
Сторінка 300 - In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring...
Сторінка 43 - When proud-pied April dressed in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in everything', That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the...
Сторінка 171 - Thou hast what's left of me; For I am now so sunk from what I was, Thou find'st me at my lowest water-mark. The rivers that ran in, and raised my fortunes, Are all dried up, or take another course: What I have left is from my native spring; I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
Сторінка 74 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.