The Literary History of England in the End of the Eighteenth and Beginning of the Ninetheenth Century, Том 3Macmillan and Company, 1882 |
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admiration Allan Cunningham amusing beautiful Bentham born brilliant Byron called canto Castle Rackrent character Childe Harold contemporaries critics curious delightful died divine doubt England English eyes fame feeling Ford Abbey friends genial genius girl heart heaven hero honour human imagination interest Irish James Mill Jane Austen Jeremy Bentham Keats kind lady Lady Morgan Leigh Hunt less letters literary literature lived London Lord Lord Byron Mackintosh Maria Edgeworth melodious mind misery Miss Austen Miss Edgeworth Moore moral mysterious nature never noble Northanger Abbey pain passion perhaps philosopher pleasure poem poet poetical poetry political poor Pride and Prejudice produced published reader says scarcely scene seems sentiment Shelley Shelley's society song soul Southey spirit story strange Susan Ferrier sweet thing thought tion touch verse vulgar wild wonderful write written young poet youth
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Сторінка 122 - sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat grey-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair ; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as
Сторінка 57 - How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black,—and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth." Another curious production of the two poetic
Сторінка 119 - I may write independently and with judgment hereafter. The Genius of poetry must work out its own salvation in a man. It cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself. In
Сторінка 89 - ever, Upon that many-winding river, Between mountains, woods, abysses, A paradise of wildernesses, Till, like one in slumber bound, Borne to the ocean, I float down, around, Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound. Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions In music's most serene dominions, Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven ; And we sail on,
Сторінка 119 - I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore and piped a silly pipe, and taken tea and comfortable advice." Keats neither responded to his critics by savage retaliation like Byron, nor broke a bloodvessel as he was
Сторінка 49 - motionless and still ; And as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more.
Сторінка 41 - How wonderful is Death ! Death and his brother Sleep— One pale as yonder waning moon With lips of lurid blue ; The other rosy as the morn When, throned on ocean's wave, It flashes o'er the world
Сторінка 98 - unworthy the effort of a poet ; the memory is unfurnished in which they do not lurk to sweeten solitude and give expression to many a wistful thought and dreamy fancy. Some of them embody the very soul of pensive thoughtfulness :— " We look before and after, And pine for what is not ; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught— Our sweetest songa are those that tell of saddest thought.
Сторінка 55 - concentred in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence.
Сторінка 13 - rise at last. Recall the pleasing memory of the past ; Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire, And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre; Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, Assert thy country's honour and thine own. What ! must deserted Poesy still weep Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep