Recollections of a Literary Life: Or, Books, Places and PeopleHarper, 1852 - 558 ページ |
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... Perhaps it would be difficult to find a short phrase that would accurately describe a work so miscella- neous and so wayward ; a work where there is far too much of personal gossip and of local scene - painting for the grave pretension ...
... Perhaps it would be difficult to find a short phrase that would accurately describe a work so miscella- neous and so wayward ; a work where there is far too much of personal gossip and of local scene - painting for the grave pretension ...
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... perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them which stamped first , or rather engraved these characters in me : they were like letters cut into the bark of a young tree , which , with the tree , still grows proportionably ...
... perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them which stamped first , or rather engraved these characters in me : they were like letters cut into the bark of a young tree , which , with the tree , still grows proportionably ...
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... perhaps still more weary than myself , were miseries much too great , and loaded my little heart with sorrows far too poignant ever to be forgotten . By - roads and high - roads were alike to be traversed , but the former far the ...
... perhaps still more weary than myself , were miseries much too great , and loaded my little heart with sorrows far too poignant ever to be forgotten . By - roads and high - roads were alike to be traversed , but the former far the ...
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... perhaps , in the evening , the horse has his last feed of oats , which he generally stands to enjoy in the center of his smooth , carefully - made bed of long clean straw , and by the side of him the weary boy will often lie down , it ...
... perhaps , in the evening , the horse has his last feed of oats , which he generally stands to enjoy in the center of his smooth , carefully - made bed of long clean straw , and by the side of him the weary boy will often lie down , it ...
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... perhaps a fortnight or three weeks . As that proceeds the boys are less cautious , each having less suspicion of his horse . I was leading the gallop one morning , and had gone more than half the way toward the foot of Cambridge Hill ...
... perhaps a fortnight or three weeks . As that proceeds the boys are less cautious , each having less suspicion of his horse . I was leading the gallop one morning , and had gone more than half the way toward the foot of Cambridge Hill ...
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admirable ballads beauty Ben Jonson bird Bonny Dundee Bradshaigh bright brother called charming dear death delight doth EACUS English EURIPIDES eyes fair father fear feeling flowers Gelert gentlemen Gerald Griffin give Goodere grace hand happy hath hear heard heart Hepzibah honor horse Joanna Baillie John Banim John Clare kind King Klopstock knew Kyng lady laughed letters light live look Lord Mahony maid mignonette Molière morning murder never night noble o'er once Pan is dead passed person pleasure poems poet poetry poor praise round SACK OF BALTIMORE scene seemed sing smile Soggarth aroon song spirit story sweet tears tell thee There's thing thou thought took trees Twas Ufton Court verse walk wild Winthrop Mackworth Praed wirra-sthru wonder words write wyfe XANTHIAS young youth
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548 ページ - I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragon's teeth ; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye.
547 ページ - STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; for ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one ; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of affairs come best from those that are learned.
320 ページ - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
431 ページ - Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
428 ページ - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
396 ページ - Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? — God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! God!
320 ページ - Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
319 ページ - Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
397 ページ - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows , simple wiles , Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
317 ページ - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.