The Prose Workd of Mrs. Ellis: The poetry of life. Pictures of private life (first and second series) A voice from the vintageLangley, 1844 - English literature |
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Sarah Stickney Ellis. CONTENTS . VOL . II . THE POETRY OF LIFE . PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE , FIRST SERIES . PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE , SECOND SERIES . A VOICE FROM THE VINTAGE , & c . THE POETRY OF LIFE . BY MRS . ELLIS ,
Sarah Stickney Ellis. CONTENTS . VOL . II . THE POETRY OF LIFE . PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE , FIRST SERIES . PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE , SECOND SERIES . A VOICE FROM THE VINTAGE , & c . THE POETRY OF LIFE . BY MRS . ELLIS ,
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... picture , to delineate his own conceptions of grandeur or beauty . Even were he able to throw into his performance the force of the most daring genius , or the most inextin- guishable enthusiasm , it would prove in the end , no better ...
... picture , to delineate his own conceptions of grandeur or beauty . Even were he able to throw into his performance the force of the most daring genius , or the most inextin- guishable enthusiasm , it would prove in the end , no better ...
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... picture , and sometimes a very worthy man , are without Poetry , is a fact almost as deeply felt , and as well under- stood , as the memorable anathema of Shak- speare against the man who had not music in his soul . In many books this ...
... picture , and sometimes a very worthy man , are without Poetry , is a fact almost as deeply felt , and as well under- stood , as the memorable anathema of Shak- speare against the man who had not music in his soul . In many books this ...
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... picture of rural peace , and privileged seclusion . We long to shake off the shackles of artificial society , the weary- ing cares of life , the imperative control of fashion , or the toil and traffic of the busy world , and to dwell ...
... picture of rural peace , and privileged seclusion . We long to shake off the shackles of artificial society , the weary- ing cares of life , the imperative control of fashion , or the toil and traffic of the busy world , and to dwell ...
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... picture ; but the vision is dis- pelled for ever by the first gripe of that iron hand , that spares neither the young , the helpless , nor the old . and skill , there are few things more poetical than the aspect of a ship at sea ...
... picture ; but the vision is dis- pelled for ever by the first gripe of that iron hand , that spares neither the young , the helpless , nor the old . and skill , there are few things more poetical than the aspect of a ship at sea ...
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admiration affection Agnes amongst Andrew Miller Anna Arnold asso associations beauty behold beneath birds blessing bosom bright brow called character charm choly colour dark deep delight earth enjoyment Eskdale exis faithful familiar spirits feeling felt flowers genius grief hand happiness heart heaven hope hour human ideas imagination impressions innu intel intellectual Jephthah kind labour lady language less light listen live look Lord Lord Byron Mary melan melancholy ment mind moon moral mother nature ness never night object pain passions picture pleasure poet poetical poetry poor principle PROSPERO racter Saul scene silent Sisera smile soul sound speak spirit sublime suffering sweet tain taste tears tence tenderness thee thing thou thought tion truth tural ture uncon unto voice wandering weary wild William Clare wind wings woman words young
Popular passages
Page 88 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 159 - twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers ; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art...
Page 136 - At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down : at her feet he bowed, he fell ; where he bowed, there he fell down dead.
Page 83 - 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. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Page 134 - But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life ; for I am not better than my fathers.
Page 85 - Awake, /Eolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take ; The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres...
Page 134 - And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.
Page 166 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of Dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases.
Page 81 - SWIFTLY walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where all the long and lone daylight Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwrought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand.
Page 85 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.