A Study of English and American Poets: A Laboratory MethodC. Scribner's sons, 1900 - 859 pages |
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A Study of English and American Poets: A Laboratory Method John Scott Clark No preview available - 2015 |
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A. C. Swinburne Absalom and Achitophel afterward American autumn beauty Boston breath Browning Browning's Bryant Burns Byron called Canterbury Tales character Chaucer child Coleridge Cowper criticism death delight divine Dowden Dryden Dunciad Edinburgh Emerson England English Poets Essays Faery Queene fancy father feeling flowers genius gives Hazlitt heart heaven Holmes Houghton human humor ILLUSTRATIONS imagination Keats Lady language literary living London Longfellow Lord Lowell Macmillan Magazine melody Mifflin Milton mind moral nature never North American Review o'er Paradise Lost Parke Godwin passion pathos poems poet poet's poetic poetry Pope Pope's prose published Review rhyme Rossetti satire seems sense sentiment Shairp Shelley song Sordello soul Spenser spirit Stedman style sublime summer sweet tender Tennyson thee things thou thought tion truth Tuckerman verse visits volume Whipple Whittier William Hazlitt Woodberry words Wordsworth writes York
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Page 599 - new duties; time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! We ourselves must pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted Key."— The Present Crisis.
Page 843 - thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past I Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea.
Page 104 - in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the Sun, Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Page 125 - Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides And Laughter, holding both his sides ; Come and trip it, as you go, On the light fantastic toe."—L'Allegro.
Page 647 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist ; " A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Page 178 - Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, ' Sister spirit, come away !' What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes, it disappears I Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend, lend your wings ! I mount
Page 439 - O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company : " To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men and babes and loving friends And youths and maidens gay." —Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
Page 107 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 105 - Ring out ye crystal spheres I Once bless our human ears, (If ye have power to touch our senses so) And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow. And with your nine-fold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Page 568 - The hills Rocked-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods—rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of