Literary and Social SilhouettesHarper and Brothers, 1894 - 218 sider |
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Side 61 - No author, without a trial, can conceive of the difficulty of writing a romance about a country where there is no shadow, no antiquity, no mystery, no picturesque and gloomy wrong, nor anything but a commonplace prosperity, in broad and simple daylight, as is happily the case with my dear native land.
Side 217 - Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped ; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Side 137 - The counter our lovers staked was lost As surely as if it were lawful coin : And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.
Side 214 - GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!
Side 60 - When a writer calls his work a Romance, it need hardly be observed that he wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion and material, which he would not have felt himself entitled to assume, had he professed to be writing a Novel.
Side 137 - If you choose to play ! — is my principle. Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life's set prize, be it what it will!
Side 144 - The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn ! 0 lover of my life, O soldier-saint, No work begun shall ever pause for death ! Love will be helpful to me more and more I...
Side 216 - For thence, — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i
Side 64 - Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats.
Side 136 - But delay was best, For their end was a crime."— Oh, a crime will do As well, I reply, to serve for a test, As a virtue golden through and through, 230 Sufficient to vindicate itself And prove its worth at a moment's view!