Literary Leaves, 1. köideThacker & Company, 1840 |
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Page 7
... tender and ima- ginative Keats was crushed by the rude hand of Gifford , and perished like a flower in a foreign land . The unhappy Kirke White never entirely overcame the shock of an unfavourable critique on his first productions . One ...
... tender and ima- ginative Keats was crushed by the rude hand of Gifford , and perished like a flower in a foreign land . The unhappy Kirke White never entirely overcame the shock of an unfavourable critique on his first productions . One ...
Page 30
... tender and serene when either caressing or caressed , and deceives us like the ocean in a calm , which at times seems " the gentlest of all gentle things . " Who can wonder at the intensity of a mother's love , when even strangers ...
... tender and serene when either caressing or caressed , and deceives us like the ocean in a calm , which at times seems " the gentlest of all gentle things . " Who can wonder at the intensity of a mother's love , when even strangers ...
Page 65
... tender and dream - like hue which makes the past so precious . The coldest and coarsest mind is touched and elevated on such occasions . The finest points of our common nature are then developed ; and never is the human K countenance so ...
... tender and dream - like hue which makes the past so precious . The coldest and coarsest mind is touched and elevated on such occasions . The finest points of our common nature are then developed ; and never is the human K countenance so ...
Page 101
... tender thought Recalled the fallen brave , ' twas like the cloud On Summer's radiant brow - a flitting shade . Yet on the battle - plain how many lay , In their last dreamless sleep ! Some too were there Who struggled yet within the ...
... tender thought Recalled the fallen brave , ' twas like the cloud On Summer's radiant brow - a flitting shade . Yet on the battle - plain how many lay , In their last dreamless sleep ! Some too were there Who struggled yet within the ...
Page 105
... tender associations . Though , like other men , I have sometimes looked towards the future with eagerness and curiosity , I am far more disposed to linger over the memory of departed hours . I feel no peculiar satisfaction in parting ...
... tender associations . Though , like other men , I have sometimes looked towards the future with eagerness and curiosity , I am far more disposed to linger over the memory of departed hours . I feel no peculiar satisfaction in parting ...
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Literary Leaves: Prose and Verse Chiefly Written in India, Volume II ... David Lester Richardson No preview available - 2015 |
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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...