Papers of the Manchester Literary Club, 17 tomasH. Rawson & Company, 1891 |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Papers of the Manchester Literary Club, 33 tomas Manchester Literary Club Visos knygos peržiūra - 1907 |
Papers of the Manchester Literary Club, 30 tomas Manchester Literary Club Visos knygos peržiūra - 1904 |
Papers of the Manchester Literary Club, 15 tomas Manchester Literary Club Visos knygos peržiūra - 1889 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
accents admirable artist Aspland Augier Barlow beauty better caricatures character charming Chorlton-on-Medlock church Claudius colour Countess criticism death delight Earl Edwin Waugh Émile Augier English engraving Essex feeling Foard Frank Bramley French genius GEORGE MILNER Gillray Gillray's Gudbrand Harpurhey heart Heaven honour human Ibsen Ibsen's interest James James Gillray John JOHN MORTIMER Lady lake Lancashire landscape literature living look Lord Manchester Mendelssohn Mequinez mezzotint mind morning Mortimer mountains nature never Newlyn Newlyn School night O'Conor Old Trafford Oldham Painted by Sir painter paper perhaps picture play poem poet poetry poor portrait Queen ring Road scene seems Sir J. E. Millais Sir Robert Cary songs soul Stockport story thee Theophilus Lindsey things Thomas Oldham thought tion Toluf took trimeter Turner verse wife William woman writes
Populiarios ištraukos
390 psl. - For, don't you mark ? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out.
74 psl. - It lies in heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge.
14 psl. - ... congealed into sharp contradiction, into abnegation, isolation, proud, hopeless pain. A soft, ethereal soul looking out so stern, implacable, grim-trenchant, as from imprisonment of thick-ribbed ice ! Withal it is a silent pain too, a silent, scornful one : the lip is curled in a kind of godlike disdain of the thing that is eating out his heart, — as if it were withal a mean, insignificant thing, as if he whom it had power to torture and strangle were greater than it.
89 psl. - The sky leans dumb on the sea, Aweary with all its wings; And oh ! the song the sea sings Is dark everlastingly. Our past is clean forgot, Our present is and is not, Our future's a sealed seedplot, And what betwixt them are we? — We who say as we go, — 'Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day.
87 psl. - Gather a shell from the strown beach And listen at its lips : they sigh The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea's speech. And all mankind is thus at heart Not anything but what thou art : And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
217 psl. - Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, While rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
124 psl. - She took me by the hand, and wrung it hard ; and said; ' No, Robin, I am not well ;' and then discoursed with me of her indisposition ; and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or twelve days ; and in her discourse she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighs.
189 psl. - And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing The tither stocked raw, Wi' claivers, an' haivers, Wearing the day awa : Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast ; That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.
87 psl. - I HAVE been here before, But when or how I cannot tell : I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, — How long ago I may not know : But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, — I knew it all of yore.
87 psl. - Listen alone beside the sea, Listen alone among the woods ; Those voices of twin solitudes Shall have one sound alike to thee : Hark where the murmurs of thronged men Surge and sink back and surge again, — Still the one voice of wave and tree.