Chambers's Cyclopædia of English Literature: A History, Critical and Biographical, of British and American Authors, with Specimens of Their Writings, Volúmenes5-6Robert Chambers American Book Exchange, 1880 |
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Página 1
... fancy of Moore , and it has not prevented the poetry of Wordsworth from gradually working its way into public favour . If we have not the poetry and romance of the Elizabethan age , we have the ever - living passions of human nature and ...
... fancy of Moore , and it has not prevented the poetry of Wordsworth from gradually working its way into public favour . If we have not the poetry and romance of the Elizabethan age , we have the ever - living passions of human nature and ...
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... fancy was as fresh and blooming as in the spring and morning of existence . That he was constitutionally prone to melancholy and insanity , seems undoubted ; but the predis- posing causes were as surely aggravated by his strict and ...
... fancy was as fresh and blooming as in the spring and morning of existence . That he was constitutionally prone to melancholy and insanity , seems undoubted ; but the predis- posing causes were as surely aggravated by his strict and ...
Página 11
... fancy . His character of Chatham has rarely been surpassed even by Pope or Dryden : A. Patriots , alas ! the few that have been found , Where most they flourish , upon English ground , The country's need have scantily supplied ; And the ...
... fancy . His character of Chatham has rarely been surpassed even by Pope or Dryden : A. Patriots , alas ! the few that have been found , Where most they flourish , upon English ground , The country's need have scantily supplied ; And the ...
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... Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief ; " Shall steep me in Elysian reverie , A momentary dream , that thou art she . My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit ...
... Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief ; " Shall steep me in Elysian reverie , A momentary dream , that thou art she . My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit ...
Página 30
... fancy , wit , suffice not all to raise So clear a title to affection's praise : His highest honours to the heart belong ; His virtues formed the magic of his song . " On the Tomb of Mrs. Unwin . Trusting in God with all her heart and ...
... fancy , wit , suffice not all to raise So clear a title to affection's praise : His highest honours to the heart belong ; His virtues formed the magic of his song . " On the Tomb of Mrs. Unwin . Trusting in God with all her heart and ...
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Términos y frases comunes
admiration afterwards Aiken-drum Allan Cunningham Allan Ramsay appeared bawbee beauty beneath bonny breath bright Burns Byron character Charles Lamb charm clouds Cockpen dark dear death deep delight died dream earth ELIZABETH INCHBALD eyes fair fancy father fear feeling flowers frae genius grave green hame hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill honour hope Horace Smith hour John Kilmeny lady lassie light literary live look Lord Lord Byron mind morning mountain native nature never night novel o'er passion poem poet poetical poetry published rose round says scenes Scotland Scott Scottish seemed shew silent Sir Walter Scott sleep smile song soul spirit stream sweet tale taste tears thee thine thing thou thought Twas Vathek verse voice volumes wandering wave wild William Laidlaw WILLIAM MOTHERWELL wind young youth
Pasajes populares
Página 140 - tis her privilege. Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy; for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues. Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.
Página 324 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Página 158 - The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.
Página 290 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Página 137 - Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
Página 247 - O woman ! in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please, and variable as the shade by the light, quivering aspen made ; when pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering angel thou...
Página 26 - For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs, 'The wine is left behind!' 'Good lack,' quoth he — 'yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise.
Página 138 - To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime : that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world. Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood.
Página 297 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Página 291 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.