Essays, English and American: With Introductions and Notes

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Essays by Thackeray, Newman, Arnold, Ruskin, Bagehot, Huxley, Freeman, Stevenson, Channing, Poe, Thoreau, Lowell Vollständige Rezension lesen

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Seite 87 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Seite 128 - Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?
Seite 74 - Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Seite 108 - Last came, and last did go The pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain...
Seite 110 - Enow of such as for their bellies' sake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ! Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest ; Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else, the least That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs ! What recks it them? What need they ? They are sped ; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on...
Seite 402 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Seite 385 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me — who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart; — As I must on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art!
Seite 88 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Seite 82 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Seite 398 - Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing, — Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her — All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly.

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