Nineteenth Century English Prose: Critical EssaysThomas H. Dickinson, Frederick William Roe American book Company, 1908 - 495 pages |
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admirable artist beauty Boswell Boswell's Caleb Williams called Carlyle Carlyle's century character charm composition criticism describe Don Quixote effect Emerson England English English poetry Enoch Arden essay expression fame fancy feel genius Giaour Goethe hand heart heaven human humor idea imagination intellectual interest James Boswell John Morley Johnson kind language Leonardo Leonardo da Vinci less letters literary literature living look Lord Byron Macaulay Macaulay's manner matter mean Milton mind moral nature ness never novel ornate art painted passages passion Pater perfect perhaps person philosophy poem poet poetry Pope prose pure art qualities reader Samuel Johnson scene Scott seems sense sentiment Shakespeare Sir Walter Scott soul speak spirit story strange style Swift things thou thought tion Tom Jones true truth Verrocchio Voltaire Whig whole words Wordsworth writer
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Page 114 - The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a Patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.
Page 298 - Earth has not anything to show more fair : 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.
Page 114 - Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached ground encumbers him with help ? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind ; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary and cannot impart it; till I am known and do not want it.
Page 308 - The blaze upon the waters to the east ; The blaze upon his island overhead ; The blaze upon the waters to the west ; Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven, The hollower-bellowing ocean, and again The scarlet shafts of sunrise — but no sail.
Page 365 - She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants: and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary...
Page 298 - 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 splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Page 452 - Who could resist the charm of that spiritual apparition, gliding in the dim afternoon light through the aisles of St Mary's, rising into the pulpit, and then, in the most entrancing of voices, breaking the silence with words and thoughts which were a religious music - subtle, sweet, mournful?
Page 259 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.
Page 114 - Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation. My Lord, your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,
Page 303 - To be no more : sad cure! for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity., To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion?