The Spirit of the Age, Or, Contemporary PortraitsH. Colburn, 1825 - 424 стор. |
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Сторінка 128
... lines between them . " It is plain , " said the unconscious author to his fellow- labourer , " that you and I need never think of getting our living by writing poetry ! " In a year or so after this , he set to work , and poured out ...
... lines between them . " It is plain , " said the unconscious author to his fellow- labourer , " that you and I need never think of getting our living by writing poetry ! " In a year or so after this , he set to work , and poured out ...
Сторінка 196
... lines on a Picture by Claude Lorraine , and to the exquisite poem , entitled Laodamia . The last of these breathes the pure spirit of the finest fragments of antiquity - the sweetness , the gravity , 196 THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE .
... lines on a Picture by Claude Lorraine , and to the exquisite poem , entitled Laodamia . The last of these breathes the pure spirit of the finest fragments of antiquity - the sweetness , the gravity , 196 THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE .
Сторінка 197
... lines and poems of our author's , that we think of ten times for once that we recur to any of Lord Byron's . Or if there are any of the lat- ter's writings , that we can dwell upon in the same way , that is , as lasting and heart - felt ...
... lines and poems of our author's , that we think of ten times for once that we recur to any of Lord Byron's . Or if there are any of the lat- ter's writings , that we can dwell upon in the same way , that is , as lasting and heart - felt ...
Сторінка 201
... lines quoted from it , as put into the mouth of a person smit with remorse for some rash crime : " Action is momentary , The motion of a muscle this way or that ; Suffering is long , obscure , and infinite ! " Perhaps for want of light ...
... lines quoted from it , as put into the mouth of a person smit with remorse for some rash crime : " Action is momentary , The motion of a muscle this way or that ; Suffering is long , obscure , and infinite ! " Perhaps for want of light ...
Сторінка 263
... lines like these , let us contrast the Verses addressed To a Tuft of early Violets by the fastidious author of the Baviad and Mæviad.- " Sweet flowers ! that from your humble beds Thus prematurely dare to rise , And trust your ...
... lines like these , let us contrast the Verses addressed To a Tuft of early Violets by the fastidious author of the Baviad and Mæviad.- " Sweet flowers ! that from your humble beds Thus prematurely dare to rise , And trust your ...
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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.