The Literary History of England in the End of the Eighteenth and Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, Том 3Macmillan and Company, 1882 |
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Сторінка 70
... Italy . There he settled , in have been such as Venice , where his life is said to scandal itself dislikes to dwell upon . His letters are of the same lively and superficial character as before , but , when any evidence of feeling ...
... Italy . There he settled , in have been such as Venice , where his life is said to scandal itself dislikes to dwell upon . His letters are of the same lively and superficial character as before , but , when any evidence of feeling ...
Сторінка 76
... Italian girl had never been taught nor known better , and no hero of romance could have exercised a more powerful spell upon a young creature full of romance and sentiment , yet shut out from all legitimate indulgence of the poetry of ...
... Italian girl had never been taught nor known better , and no hero of romance could have exercised a more powerful spell upon a young creature full of romance and sentiment , yet shut out from all legitimate indulgence of the poetry of ...
Сторінка 90
... Italian , though " it will take me nine years more thoroughly to master the language , " and declares that he cares nothing for the English public . " I have not written for their pleasure , " he cries ; " I have never flattered their ...
... Italian , though " it will take me nine years more thoroughly to master the language , " and declares that he cares nothing for the English public . " I have not written for their pleasure , " he cries ; " I have never flattered their ...
Сторінка 91
... Italian poem , the Morgante Maggiore of Pulci , to which , with his usual strange misapprehension of his own powers , he attached the greatest importance . Pulci was , in his own opinion , the fountainhead from which he got that new ...
... Italian poem , the Morgante Maggiore of Pulci , to which , with his usual strange misapprehension of his own powers , he attached the greatest importance . Pulci was , in his own opinion , the fountainhead from which he got that new ...
Сторінка 92
... Italian could have given . According to all the rules of growth and develop- ment , it should have been Juan who came first out of the burning fermenting brain of the young poet , and Childe Harold , which followed later , out of his ...
... Italian could have given . According to all the rules of growth and develop- ment , it should have been Juan who came first out of the burning fermenting brain of the young poet , and Childe Harold , which followed later , out of his ...
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admiration Allan Cunningham amusing beautiful Bentham born brilliant Byron called canto Castle Rackrent character Childe Harold contemporaries critics curious delightful died divine doubt England eyes fame father feeling Ford Abbey friends genial genius girl heart heaven hero honour human humour imagination interest Irish James Mill Jane Austen Jeremy Bentham Keats kind lady Lady Morgan Leigh Hunt less letters literary literature lived London Lord Lord Byron Mackintosh Maria Edgeworth melody mind miserable Miss Edgeworth Moore moral mystery natural never noble Northanger Abbey pain Panopticon passion perhaps philosopher pleasure poem poet poetical poetry political poor Pride and Prejudice produced published reader says scarcely scene seems sentiment Shelley Shelley's society song soul Southey spirit story strange Susan Ferrier sweet thing thought tion touch verse vulgar wild wonderful write young poet youth
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Сторінка 136 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Сторінка 108 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing ; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside the helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
Сторінка 153 - BRIGHT star ! would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night. And watching, with eternal lids apart. Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Сторінка 68 - The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Сторінка 58 - Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; — I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
Сторінка 266 - With deep affection • And recollection, I often think of Those Shandon bells, "Whose sounds so wild would. In the days of childhood, . . Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On, this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee,— With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand, on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Сторінка 66 - Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Сторінка 116 - Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
Сторінка 235 - Wow strain I can do myself like any now going ; but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description and the sentiment is denied to me.
Сторінка 117 - He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.