English Literature of Nineteenth Century: On the Plan of the Author's "Compendium of English Literature" and Supplementary to It. Designed for Colleges and Advanced ClassesBancroft, 1869 - 798 ページ |
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23 ページ
... seems plainly to have pointed out this useful purpose to which the pleasures of taste may be applied , by interposing them in a middle station between the pleasures of sense and those of pure intellect . We were not designed to grovel ...
... seems plainly to have pointed out this useful purpose to which the pleasures of taste may be applied , by interposing them in a middle station between the pleasures of sense and those of pure intellect . We were not designed to grovel ...
55 ページ
... seems to be but little known to the public , as I have tried in vain to find some account of her life ; but her early death , which took place at Woodstock , near Kilkenny , March 24 , 1810 , after six years of protracted suffering ...
... seems to be but little known to the public , as I have tried in vain to find some account of her life ; but her early death , which took place at Woodstock , near Kilkenny , March 24 , 1810 , after six years of protracted suffering ...
57 ページ
... seems on you to hang Through each convulsive strife , E'en now , with agonizing grasp Of terror and regret , To all in life its love would clasp , Clings close and closer yet . Yet why , immortal , vital spark , Thus mortally opprest ...
... seems on you to hang Through each convulsive strife , E'en now , with agonizing grasp Of terror and regret , To all in life its love would clasp , Clings close and closer yet . Yet why , immortal , vital spark , Thus mortally opprest ...
61 ページ
... seem to have equal claims upon me for my admira- tion . Eschylus is justly styled the father of tragedy , but this is not to be interpreted as if he was the inventor of it : Shakspeare with equal justice claims the same title , and his ...
... seem to have equal claims upon me for my admira- tion . Eschylus is justly styled the father of tragedy , but this is not to be interpreted as if he was the inventor of it : Shakspeare with equal justice claims the same title , and his ...
64 ページ
... seems thron'd on yon unmoving cloud . To him who wanders o'er the upland leas , The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale , And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark Warbles his heaven - tuned song ; the lulling brook Murmurs ...
... seems thron'd on yon unmoving cloud . To him who wanders o'er the upland leas , The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale , And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark Warbles his heaven - tuned song ; the lulling brook Murmurs ...
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admiration appeared beautiful Blackwood's Magazine bless born breath called character Charles Lamb child Christian church Coleridge critic dark death delight divine earth Edinburgh Review edition Encyclopædia Britannica England English Essays eyes fame fancy father feel flowers genius glory grace grave hand happy hath heart heaven Henry Kirke White History honor hope hour human labor lady light literary literature lived London look Lord Milton mind moral Moscow nature never night noble North British Review o'er passion pleasure poem poet poetical poetry poor praise prayer published racter rich Robert Pollok scene Shakspeare Sir Walter Scott smile song sorrow soul spirit stranger's heart style sublime sweet taste tears thee thine thing thou thought tion truth University of Edinburgh verse voice volumes wonder words writings young youth
人気のある引用
99 ページ - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
143 ページ - Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid; Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
123 ページ - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death...
430 ページ - THE world is too much with us: late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
541 ページ - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
127 ページ - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
124 ページ - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush!
82 ページ - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
220 ページ - Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! 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!
430 ページ - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.