Lectures on the British Poets, Volume 2J.B. Lippincott & Company, 1860 - English poetry |
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Page 10
... delight and exhibited such manifold power both in the language and in themselves . The melody of Shakspeare's admirable dramatic blank verse , and the equally appropriate epic blank verse , and the variety of versifications in his ...
... delight and exhibited such manifold power both in the language and in themselves . The melody of Shakspeare's admirable dramatic blank verse , and the equally appropriate epic blank verse , and the variety of versifications in his ...
Page 19
... delightful as the music of ' Paradise Lost ' ? It is like that of a fine organ , has the fullest and the deepest tones of majesty , with all the softness and elegance of a Dorian flute , -variety with- out end , and never equalled . Yet ...
... delightful as the music of ' Paradise Lost ' ? It is like that of a fine organ , has the fullest and the deepest tones of majesty , with all the softness and elegance of a Dorian flute , -variety with- out end , and never equalled . Yet ...
Page 22
... delights . The topics of devotion are few . " Contem- plative piety cannot be poetical ! the topics of devo- tion are few ! Why , what in the world had become of the good man's Bible ? Mark how Johnson's perpe- tual intrusion of his own ...
... delights . The topics of devotion are few . " Contem- plative piety cannot be poetical ! the topics of devo- tion are few ! Why , what in the world had become of the good man's Bible ? Mark how Johnson's perpe- tual intrusion of his own ...
Page 34
... ! The criti- cism which more than any other delights me is that which may sometimes , though rarely , be discovered in the response made by the imagination of one poet to that of another . Some seven or eight years ago a 34 LECTURE TENTH .
... ! The criti- cism which more than any other delights me is that which may sometimes , though rarely , be discovered in the response made by the imagination of one poet to that of another . Some seven or eight years ago a 34 LECTURE TENTH .
Page 47
... delight will take To spare your failings for his sake ; Will flatter you , -and fool and rake Your steps pursue , And of your father's name will make A snare for you . " Far from their noisy haunts retire , And add your voices to the ...
... delight will take To spare your failings for his sake ; Will flatter you , -and fool and rake Your steps pursue , And of your father's name will make A snare for you . " Far from their noisy haunts retire , And add your voices to the ...
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Common terms and phrases
admirable amid ancient auld bard beautiful beneath bonny Dundee bright Burns Byron's character Charles Lamb child Christabel Christie's cloud Coleridge's criticism dark dead dear deep delight descriptive poetry doth early earth Edmund Spenser English poetry faith fame familiar fancy feeling frae French Revolution genius glory grave happy Hartley Coleridge hath heart heaven honour human imagination Johnson language lecture light literary literature living look Lord lyrical poetry melody memory Milton mind minstrelsy moral myste nature never night o'er Paradise Lost pass passage passion Petrarch poem poet poet's poetic Pope prose reader Samuel Taylor Coleridge Scott's Scottish sense sentiment Shakspeare song sonnet soul sound Southey Southey's Spenser spirit stanzas strain strong sweet sympathy Thalaba thee thing thou thought tion true truth uttered verse voice Wat Tyler waves wild words Wordsworth writings youth
Popular passages
Page 117 - Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head, Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
Page 123 - Alas ! they had been friends in youth ; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 114 - This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.
Page 192 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims aronnd him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Page 221 - Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And...
Page 123 - With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother : They parted — ne'er to meet again ! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; A dreary sea now flows between ; — But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
Page 260 - It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder— everlastingly.
Page 195 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 120 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 192 - He heard it, but he heeded not - his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother - he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday All this rush'd with his blood - Shall he expire And unavenged?