The Works of Thomas De Quincey, "The English Opium Eater": Including All His Contributions to Periodical Literature

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A. and C. Black, 1863

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Página 119 - My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man — This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
Página 133 - She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view...
Página 134 - Her face was of Egyptian brown;" rarely, in a woman of English birth, had I seen a more determinate gipsy tan. Her eyes were not soft as Mrs. Wordsworth's, nor were they fierce or bold ; but they were wild and startling, and hurried in their motion. Her manner was warm, and even ardent ; her sensibility seemed constitutionally deep ; and some subtle fire of impassioned intellect apparently burned within her, which — being alternately pushed forward into a conspicuous expression by the...
Página 38 - It would be directing the reader's attention too much to myself if I were to linger upon this, the greatest event in the unfolding of my own mind. Let me say, in one word, that, at a period when neither the one nor the other writer was valued by the public — both having a long warfare to accomplish of contumely and ridicule before they could rise into their present estimation — I found in these poems "the ray of a new morning," and an absolute revelation of untrodden worlds teeming with power...
Página 194 - But how can He expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all...
Página 204 - The Blessing of my later years Was with me when a boy : She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And humble cares, and delicate fears ; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears ; And love, and thought, and joy.
Página 191 - Cold, pain, and hunger, and all fleshly ills," occurred to his boding apprehension, and "mighty poets in their misery dead." He thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in its pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy Following his plough along the mountain-side. And, at starting on his career of life, certainly no man had plainer reasons for anticipating the worst evils that have ever persecuted poets, excepting only two reasons which might warrant him...
Página 24 - Now do these sternly-featured hills Look gently on this grave ; And quiet now are the depths of air, As a sea without a wave. But deeper lies the heart of peace In quiet more profound ; The heart of quietness is here Within this churchyard bound. And from all agony of mind It keeps them safe, and far From fear and grief, and from all need Of sun or guiding star.
Página 188 - ... nature to inspire such a passion. That same meekness which reconciles her to the tone of superiority and freedom in the manner of her suitor, and which may afterwards in a wife become a sweet domestic grace, strips her of that too charming irritation, captivating at once and tormenting, which lurks in feminine pride. If there be an enchantress's spell yet surviving in this age of ours, it is the haughty grace of maidenly pride — the womanly sense of dignity, even when most in excess, and expressed...
Página 42 - I have : and it was a German author. This German, understand, is a poor stick of a man, not to be named on the same day with Coleridge : so that, if Coleridge should appear to have robbed him, be assured that he has done the scamp too much honour.

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