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acted admiration Alfred Tennyson Artevelde beauty Ben Jonson Carlyle character criticism display doubt Drama dramatists Edmund Kean Edward Lytton emotions equally Essay eternal exquisite eyes faculty faith fancy feeling Festus Frankenstein genius hand Harriet Martineau heart hero honour human humour ideal illustration imagination imitation impulse individual intellect Keats kind Knowles labour Lady laugh literature look Lord Lord Byron Lytton Bulwer Macaulay Macready manager matter means mind moral nature never night original Paracelsus passion Paul Clifford peculiar perhaps Philip van Artevelde philosophical poem poet poetical poetry popular possess present principle readers reason regard remarks Robert Montgomery romance Satan scenes sense Shakspere Shelley Sir Lytton Sordello soul spirit stage story strong struggle style success sympathies taste Tennyson Theodore Hook things THOMAS HOOD thought tion tragedy true truth unacted write Zanoni
Página 163 - Binds it, and makes all error : and to KNOW Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape. Than in effecting entry for a light Supposed to be without.
Página 278 - ... stormfully across the astonished Earth ; then ' plunge again into the Inane. Earth's mountains are levelled, ' and her seas filled up, in our passage : can the Earth, which is ' but dead and a vision, resist Spirits which have reality and are ' alive? On the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped' in ; the last Rear of the host will read traces of the earliest Van. 'But whence? — O Heaven, whither ? Sense knows not; Faith ' knows not ; only that it is through Mystery to Mystery, from...
Página 25 - Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof.
Página 21 - The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Página 26 - Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow: get thee to thy rest again. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry.
Página 293 - We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives, Who thinks most ; feels the noblest ; acts the best ; And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest ; Lives in one hour more than in years do some Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along their veins. Life is but a means unto an end ; that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things — God.
Página 2 - On a poet's lips I slept, Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept. Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be : But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality.
Página 7 - ... might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given. The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully afar! Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Página 52 - Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. My Ben ! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend ; And having once brought to an end That precious stock, — the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.
Página 203 - You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine." Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight ; Yet ere he parted said, " This hour is thine : Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, So in the light of great eternity Life eminent creates the shade of death ; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, But I shall reign for ever over alL