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Abbotsford admirable already appeared asked attack believe Blackwood called cause character Christianity Christie Coleridge College Constable course critic DEAR death described doubt early Edinburgh Edinburgh Review Editor fact father feel give given Glasgow Hamilton hand heard heart hope Hunt interest Jeffrey John Keats kind known Lady later learned least leave Leigh less letter literary living Lockhart London look Lord Magazine manner matter means meeting mind Miss Murray nature never novel occasion once opinion original Oxford party perhaps poet political present probably Professor published Quarterly reason remark respect Review says Scott seems seen Sir Walter Smith speak story sure tell things thought tion Tory Whigs Wilson wish writes written wrote young
Сторінка 245 - I have given up Hyperion — there were too many Miltonic inversions in it — Miltonic verse cannot be written but in an artful, or rather, artist's humour. I wish to give myself up to other sensations. English ought to be kept up.
Сторінка 197 - Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works. My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood or the Quarterly could possibly inflict— and also when I feel I am right, no external praise can give me such a glow as my own solitary reperception and ratification of what is fine. JS is perfectly right in regard to the slipshod Endymion.
Сторінка 327 - Touch once more a sober measure, and let punch and tears be shed, For a prince of good old fellows, that, alack-a-day ! is dead ; For a prince of worthy fellows, and a pretty man also, That has left the Saltmarket in sorrow, grief, and wo. Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo...
Сторінка 153 - Our talk shall be (a theme we never tire on) Of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, , (Our England's Dante)— Wordsworth— HUNT, and KEATS, The Muses' son of promise; and of what feats He yet may do.
Сторінка 313 - MY ornaments are arms, My pastime is in war, My bed is cold upon the wold, My lamp yon star. My journeyings are long, My slumbers short and broken; From hill to hill I wander still, Kissing thy token. The Secret Love 627 I ride from land to land, I sail from sea to sea; Some day more kind I fate may find, Some night, kiss thee.
Сторінка 326 - In the currents of life, in the tempests of motion, In the fervour of act, in the fire, in the storm, Hither and thither, Over and under, Wend I and wander. Birth and the grave Limitless ocean, Where the restless wave Undulates ever, Under and over Their seething strife, Heaving and weaving The changes of life. At the whirring loom of Time unawed, I work the living mantle of God.
Сторінка 149 - ... screams ! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams ? When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hid ? How long is't since the mighty power bid Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams ? Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams, Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid. Thou...
Сторінка 196 - Devonshire — whither I shall follow him. At present, I am just arrived at Dorking — to change the Scene — change the Air, and give me a spur to wind up my Poem, of /which there are wanting 500 lines. I should have been here a day sooner, but the Reynoldses persuaded me to stop in Town to meet your friend Christie.
Сторінка 327 - His hair was curled in order, At the rising of the sun, In comely rows and buckles smart That about his ears did run ; And, before, there was a toupee That some inches up did grow, And behind there was a long queue, That did o'er his shoulders flow. Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! And whenever we foregathered He took off his wee