The Spirit of the Age, Or, Contemporary PortraitsH. Colburn, 1825 - 424 стор. |
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Сторінка 57
... hope is there of this ? We are like those who have been to see some noble monument of art , who are content to admire without thinking of rivalling it ; or like guests after a feast , who praise the hospitality of the donor " and thank ...
... hope is there of this ? We are like those who have been to see some noble monument of art , who are content to admire without thinking of rivalling it ; or like guests after a feast , who praise the hospitality of the donor " and thank ...
Сторінка 67
... - What is become of all this mighty heap of hope , of thought , of learning , and humanity ? It has ended in swal- lowing doses of oblivion and in writing paragraphs in the Courier . - Such and so little is MR . COLERIDGE . 67.
... - What is become of all this mighty heap of hope , of thought , of learning , and humanity ? It has ended in swal- lowing doses of oblivion and in writing paragraphs in the Courier . - Such and so little is MR . COLERIDGE . 67.
Сторінка 90
... hope , or doing any thing more than " hitting the house between wind and water . " Yet he is probably a cleverer man than Mr. Irving . There is a Mr. Fox , a Dissenting Minister , as fluent a speaker , with a sweeter voice and a more ...
... hope , or doing any thing more than " hitting the house between wind and water . " Yet he is probably a cleverer man than Mr. Irving . There is a Mr. Fox , a Dissenting Minister , as fluent a speaker , with a sweeter voice and a more ...
Сторінка 171
... hope and sadness that still played upon his quivering lip . Mr. Southey's mind is essentially sanguine , even to over - weening- ness . It is prophetic of good ; it cordially embraces it ; it casts a longing , lingering look after it ...
... hope and sadness that still played upon his quivering lip . Mr. Southey's mind is essentially sanguine , even to over - weening- ness . It is prophetic of good ; it cordially embraces it ; it casts a longing , lingering look after it ...
Сторінка 172
... hope , this faith in man left , he cherished it with child - like simplicity , he clung to it with the fondness of a lover , he was an enthusiast , a fanatic , a leveller ; he stuck at nothing that he thought would banish all pain and ...
... hope , this faith in man left , he cherished it with child - like simplicity , he clung to it with the fondness of a lover , he was an enthusiast , a fanatic , a leveller ; he stuck at nothing that he thought would banish all pain and ...
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Сторінка 143 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Сторінка 362 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Сторінка 58 - That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct As water is in water.
Сторінка 398 - High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin...
Сторінка 262 - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
Сторінка 363 - The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
Сторінка 382 - Now upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And like a glory the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon, Whose head in wintry grandeur towers And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer in a vale of flowers Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Сторінка 191 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Сторінка 145 - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
Сторінка 383 - ... gleam Variously in the crimson beam Of the warm West,— as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span The unclouded skies of Peristan.