Essays on the Poets: And Other English Writers

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Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1853 - 296 sider

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Side 175 - twould a saint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;} " No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.
Side 53 - Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground — So without shame I spake: 'I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.
Side 12 - The pleasure-house is dust : behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom ; But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. "She leaves these objects to a slow decay, That what we are, and have been, may be known ; But at the coming of the milder day These monuments shall all be overgrown.
Side 255 - When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills and they To heaven.
Side 62 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Side 53 - I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep: a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why; until there rose From the near schoolroom, voices, that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
Side 42 - O almighty one, I tremble and obey ! " O Spirit ! centuries have set their seal On this heart of many wounds, and loaded brain, Since the Incarnate came : humbly he came, Veiling his horrible Godhead in the shape Of man, scorned by the world, his name unheard, Save by the rabble of his native town, Even as a parish demagogue.
Side 171 - NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, " Most women have no characters at all." Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. How many pictures of one nymph we view...
Side 174 - Calista prov'd her conduct nice, And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Sudden she storms ! she raves ! you tip the wink; But spare your censure ; Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose ; All eyes may see — a pimple on her nose. Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Sighs for the shades —
Side 42 - Of man, scorned by the world, his name unheard, Save by the rabble of his native town, Even as a parish demagogue. He led The crowd; he taught them justice, truth, and peace, In semblance; but he lit within their souls The quenchless flames of zeal, and blest the sword He brought on earth to satiate with the blood Of truth and freedom his malignant soul.

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