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admirable appear beauty believe Byron called century character charm classic comes common Count criticism deal desire effect Emerson England English estimate excellent expression eyes faults feel follow France French gift give given Goethe Gray Greek hand happiness Harriet heart hold hope human ideas important interesting Italy Keats kind knowledge language less letters literary literature live majority manner matter means Milton mind moral nature never novel passages passed passion perhaps personality philosophy piece poems poet poetic poetry praise present produced Professor prose question relate religion rest seems seen sense seriousness Shakspeare Shelley Shelley's society soul speak spirit stand style sure tells things thought true truth verse virtue whole Wordsworth writes
Сторінка 36 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Сторінка 144 - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
Сторінка 138 - What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither : Ripeness is all : Come on.
Сторінка 38 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Сторінка 16 - Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Сторінка 40 - We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine : But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a hand o' thine ; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne ! And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine ; And we'll tak a cup o...
Сторінка 29 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Сторінка 350 - Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events.
Сторінка 182 - But let no one suppose that a want of humour and a self-delusion such as Shelley's have no effect upon a man's poetry. The man Shelley, in very truth, is not entirely sane, and Shelley's poetry is not entirely sane either. The Shelley of actual life is a vision of beauty and radiance, indeed, but availing nothing, effecting nothing. And in poetry, no less than in life, he is "a beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in vain.