The Literary History of England in the End of the Eighteenth and Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, Том 3Macmillan and Company, 1882 |
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Сторінка 17
... never reached Byron till a year later , when the little Irishman was married and had cooled down . Several letters followed , and Moore was glad to accept the explanation that Byron had never seen his pub- lished denial of the more ...
... never reached Byron till a year later , when the little Irishman was married and had cooled down . Several letters followed , and Moore was glad to accept the explanation that Byron had never seen his pub- lished denial of the more ...
Сторінка 20
... never very attractive , have an air of haste for which there could be no neces- sity , save in his nature . Everything is mentioned in the curtest manner , not a pause , not an indication of interest beyond the most cursory and trifling ...
... never very attractive , have an air of haste for which there could be no neces- sity , save in his nature . Everything is mentioned in the curtest manner , not a pause , not an indication of interest beyond the most cursory and trifling ...
Сторінка 26
... never in English literature had met with any- thing like this embodiment of youthful tragedy before . Réné had preceded him in France , and Werter in Germany , but " Childe Harold " was different from both . He was the symbol less of ...
... never in English literature had met with any- thing like this embodiment of youthful tragedy before . Réné had preceded him in France , and Werter in Germany , but " Childe Harold " was different from both . He was the symbol less of ...
Сторінка 29
... never is able , evidently , to divest himself of the sense that his client has a very poor case , and that in reality there is very little to be said . His own letters and journals seem to us super- ficial in the highest degree , and ...
... never is able , evidently , to divest himself of the sense that his client has a very poor case , and that in reality there is very little to be said . His own letters and journals seem to us super- ficial in the highest degree , and ...
Сторінка 31
... never know the rights or wrongs - of the question . The woman in the end has had the worst of it , as women generally have in such a conflict . In some particulars there can be no doubt she was brutally treated , but her incapacity for ...
... never know the rights or wrongs - of the question . The woman in the end has had the worst of it , as women generally have in such a conflict . In some particulars there can be no doubt she was brutally treated , but her incapacity for ...
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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 eyes fame father feeling Ford Abbey friends genial genius girl heart heaven hero honour human humour 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 melody mind miserable Miss Edgeworth Moore moral mystery natural never noble Northanger Abbey pain Panopticon 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 young poet youth
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Сторінка 136 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Сторінка 108 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing ; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside the helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
Сторінка 153 - BRIGHT star ! would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night. And watching, with eternal lids apart. Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Сторінка 68 - The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Сторінка 58 - Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; — I listened, 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 266 - With deep affection • And recollection, I often think of Those Shandon bells, "Whose sounds so wild would. In the days of childhood, . . Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On, this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee,— With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand, on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Сторінка 66 - Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Сторінка 116 - Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
Сторінка 235 - Wow strain I can do myself like any now going ; but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description and the sentiment is denied to me.
Сторінка 117 - He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.