Modern Literature and Literary Men: Being a Second Gallery of Literary PortraitsAppleton, 1850 - 376 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 53
23 psl.
... sweet village of Comrie . And even the rainbow , when you see it at the end of a dirty street , loses caste , though not color , and can hardly pass for a relation to that arch of God , which seems erected by the hands of angels , for ...
... sweet village of Comrie . And even the rainbow , when you see it at the end of a dirty street , loses caste , though not color , and can hardly pass for a relation to that arch of God , which seems erected by the hands of angels , for ...
24 psl.
... sweet Je- sus ! dear Jesus ! " no effusions of pious sentimentalism , like certain herbs , too sweet to be wholesome ; but a strain which might have been sung by the angelic host on the plains of Bethlehem , and rehearsed by the ...
... sweet Je- sus ! dear Jesus ! " no effusions of pious sentimentalism , like certain herbs , too sweet to be wholesome ; but a strain which might have been sung by the angelic host on the plains of Bethlehem , and rehearsed by the ...
34 psl.
... sweets . There are roses in it , but there are also forests . There are soft vales , but there are also mountains . There are rippling , dancing streams ; but there is also a large , grave river , running south . There are birds singing ...
... sweets . There are roses in it , but there are also forests . There are soft vales , but there are also mountains . There are rippling , dancing streams ; but there is also a large , grave river , running south . There are birds singing ...
48 psl.
... sweet morsel under his tongue ; " or rather , if you believe himself , took him as a drastic dose , to purify his bilious and unhappy nature , by the strongest contrasted element that he could find . He often reviled and ridiculed ...
... sweet morsel under his tongue ; " or rather , if you believe himself , took him as a drastic dose , to purify his bilious and unhappy nature , by the strongest contrasted element that he could find . He often reviled and ridiculed ...
68 psl.
... loathe - handles the horrible , and shudders not feels with firm finger the palpitating pulse of the infanticide or the murderer - and snuffs a cer- tain sweet odor in the evil savors of putrefying misery 68 GEORGE CRABBE .
... loathe - handles the horrible , and shudders not feels with firm finger the palpitating pulse of the infanticide or the murderer - and snuffs a cer- tain sweet odor in the evil savors of putrefying misery 68 GEORGE CRABBE .
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Modern Literature & Literary Men– Being a Second Gallery of Literary Portraits George Gilfillan Visos knygos peržiūra - 1860 |
Modern Literature and Literary Men– Being a Second Gallery of Literary Portraits George Gilfillan Peržiūra negalima - 2021 |
Modern Literature and Literary Men– Being a Second Gallery of Literary ... George Gilfillan Peržiūra negalima - 2015 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
admiration amid beautiful burning Byron called calm Carlyle character Christianity Cobbett Coleridge Crabbe criticism dark death deep divine dream earnest earth Ebenezer Elliot Edinburgh Review eloquent Emerson English eternal Eugene Aram fancy feeling fire Foster genius George Dawson gloom grandeur heart heaven hell human humor imagination intellect Isaac Taylor John Sterling language lectures Leigh Hunt less light literary living look Macaulay melancholy Milton mind misery moral morocco nature never night Paradise Paradise Lost passion peculiar poems poet poetical poetry popular praise profound prophet prose readers religion Sartor Resartus seems sense shadow Shakspeare Shelley sincere song sorrow soul speak spirit stand stars strong style sublime sweet sympathy tears thing Thomas Carlyle Thomas Macaulay thou thought tion true truth verse vision voice Voltaire William Cobbett wonder words Wordsworth writings
Populiarios ištraukos
279 psl. - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
260 psl. - The many men so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.
24 psl. - Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.
24 psl. - 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.
338 psl. - Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say " Peace !" Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
248 psl. - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
29 psl. - Parthenon As the best gem upon her zone ; And Morning opes with haste her lids To gaze upon the Pyramids ; O'er England's Abbeys bends the sky As on its friends with kindred eye ; For, out of Thought's interior sphere These wonders rose to upper air, And nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Ararat.
332 psl. - Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us, Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.
91 psl. - Thy habitation from eternity! 0 dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it...
204 psl. - At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, ' Is there any hope ? ' To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand ; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.