Literary Leaves, 1. köideThacker & Company, 1840 |
From inside the book
Page 4
... style is always but a doubtful indication of the serenity of his heart . The confessions of genius exhibit such pictures of misery and despair , as would appal the most ardent candidate for literary distinction , if it were not for that ...
... style is always but a doubtful indication of the serenity of his heart . The confessions of genius exhibit such pictures of misery and despair , as would appal the most ardent candidate for literary distinction , if it were not for that ...
Page 5
... styles himself , confesses in one of his prefaces , how much he repents the sin of rhyme ; and if I had a son ... style , expresses his regret , that he had become an author . I have a wife , " says he , ( see his journal of 1814 ...
... styles himself , confesses in one of his prefaces , how much he repents the sin of rhyme ; and if I had a son ... style , expresses his regret , that he had become an author . I have a wife , " says he , ( see his journal of 1814 ...
Page 31
... style of his celebrated coun- tryman . His children have not been dandled in courts or draw- ing - rooms , nor tutored by fiddling and caper - cutting dancing masters . They have a natural grace about them that is always charming to an ...
... style of his celebrated coun- tryman . His children have not been dandled in courts or draw- ing - rooms , nor tutored by fiddling and caper - cutting dancing masters . They have a natural grace about them that is always charming to an ...
Page 45
... style . " His existing manuscripts , " says D'Israeli , " display more erasures than Pope's , and show his eagerness to set down his first thoughts , and his art to raise them to the impassioned style of his imagination * . " Dr ...
... style . " His existing manuscripts , " says D'Israeli , " display more erasures than Pope's , and show his eagerness to set down his first thoughts , and his art to raise them to the impassioned style of his imagination * . " Dr ...
Page 49
... and conden- sation of style which is now so much neglected . He is too exuberant . Drummond of Hawthornden beautifully and truly says , H I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays With toil ON CARE AND CONDENSATION IN WRITING . 49.
... and conden- sation of style which is now so much neglected . He is too exuberant . Drummond of Hawthornden beautifully and truly says , H I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays With toil ON CARE AND CONDENSATION IN WRITING . 49.
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Literary Leaves: Prose and Verse Chiefly Written in India, Volume II ... David Lester Richardson No preview available - 2015 |
Common terms and phrases
admiration amongst Anna Seward Atossa beauty Bolingbroke breast breath bright calm Chalkhill character Charlotte Smith charm cheerful Clearchus clouds conversation critics D'Israeli dear death delightful dreams Dryden Duchess of Marlborough E'en effect egotism egotist Essay Essay on Criticism external face fair fame fancy feeling friendship genius gleam glorious glory happy harmony hath heart hope Horace Walpole human intellectual John Chalkhill Johnson labour Leigh Hunt less light lines literary look Lord Bolingbroke Lord Byron Marchmont memory Milton mind Montaigne nature never o'er observed once passage passion perhaps persons Petrarch physiognomy pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's praise prose reader remarks says scene seems Shakspeare silent smile sonnet soul sound speak spirit stanza style sweet talk taste tender thine thing thou thought tion truth verse voice Warton weary words writers
Popular passages
Page 280 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 129 - Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
Page 332 - Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that...
Page 99 - With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
Page 91 - Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar...
Page 97 - Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell!
Page 202 - CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman.
Page 203 - I trust hereby to make it manifest with what small willingness I endure to interrupt the pursuit of no less hopes than these, and leave a calm and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark in a troubled sea of noises and hoarse disputes, put from beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies...
Page 93 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Page 97 - Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead, And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge...