On the Study of Celtic LiteratureSmith, Elder, 1867 - 181 стор. |
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antiquity bards basis beauty Book Breton Brithi called Celt Celt-haters Celt-lovers Celt's Celtic element Celtic genius Celtic literature Celtic nature Celtic race Celtism Ceridwen charm civilisation clear criticism Crown 8vo Cymri doubt Eisteddfod emotion England English nature Englishman Eugene O'Curry feeling French Gael genuine German nature German poetry give Goethe Greek Gwydion handling nature Indo-European Ireland land Latin Latinised literary Llandudno Llywarch Llywarch Hen look Lord Strangford Mabinogion manuscripts matter mediæval ment modern Nash Nash's nation natural magic Neustria Norman Ossian passion perception Philistinism philology Pindar poem poet poetical power of style prose quick quoted rhetoric Roman Saxon seems Semitic sense and sturdy sentiment Shakspeare Shakspeare's sixth century speech spirit story Strangford sturdy morality Taliesin temperament Teutonic things tion Titanism traces tradition twelfth Wales Welsh and Irish Welsh language Welsh literature Welsh poetry word Zeuss
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Сторінка 168 - The moon shines bright : — In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise ; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.
Сторінка 157 - What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome?
Сторінка 168 - These are the forgeries of jealousy: And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
Сторінка 136 - Thee Sion and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget Those other two equall'd with me in fate, So were I equall'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, And Tiresias and Phineus prophets old.
Сторінка 156 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys, Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile!
Сторінка 168 - In such a night, Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew, And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, And ran dismay'd away. Lor. In such a night, Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love To come again to Carthage.
Сторінка 167 - I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Сторінка 56 - Salmon of Llyn Llyw told them of Mabon. 'With every tide I go along the river upwards, until I come near to the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never found elsewhere.
Сторінка 160 - More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain.
Сторінка 158 - The Celt's quick feeling for what is noble and distinguished gave his poetry style; his indomitable personality gave it pride and passion; his sensibility and nervous exaltation gave it a better gift still, the gift of rendering with wonderful felicity the magical charm of nature.