Galleries of Literary Portraits, Band 1James Hogg, 1856 |
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... Lost . " His language is the only faculty he ever pushes to excess . It is sometimes overloaded into obscurity , and sometimes blown out into extrava- gance . But it is the thunder , and no lower voice , which bellows among those lonely ...
... Lost . " His language is the only faculty he ever pushes to excess . It is sometimes overloaded into obscurity , and sometimes blown out into extrava- gance . But it is the thunder , and no lower voice , which bellows among those lonely ...
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... lost . that he meant to surprise Prometheus , A difficulty here arises , which has as well as his own servants and the uni- puzzled and disunited the critics and com- verse , by producing suddenly the reasons mentators . Does , or does ...
... lost . that he meant to surprise Prometheus , A difficulty here arises , which has as well as his own servants and the uni- puzzled and disunited the critics and com- verse , by producing suddenly the reasons mentators . Does , or does ...
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... lost the opportunity of Beattie , Campbell , Hogg , Smith , Wilson , having a Macaulay . In philological lore , and a host of others . In philosophy , we we have a Pinkerton , a Sibbald , a Chal- have our Hume , our Reid , our Stew ...
... lost the opportunity of Beattie , Campbell , Hogg , Smith , Wilson , having a Macaulay . In philological lore , and a host of others . In philosophy , we we have a Pinkerton , a Sibbald , a Chal- have our Hume , our Reid , our Stew ...
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... Lost , " and third , scorning lavish imitation , wishes preferred his " Paradise Regained . " Shak- to emulate some one school or class of spere , having written his tragic miracles authors . A fourth writes deliberately under a more ...
... Lost , " and third , scorning lavish imitation , wishes preferred his " Paradise Regained . " Shak- to emulate some one school or class of spere , having written his tragic miracles authors . A fourth writes deliberately under a more ...
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... Lost . " That was the real another period , in some points very similar fruit of the Puritanic contest - of all its to that of English Puritanism ? Is not tears , and all its blood ; and let those our age getting tired of names , words ...
... Lost . " That was the real another period , in some points very similar fruit of the Puritanic contest - of all its to that of English Puritanism ? Is not tears , and all its blood ; and let those our age getting tired of names , words ...
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Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
admiration amid angels beauty breath Bulwer Burns Byron calm character Coleridge critics daring dark death deep divine Dr Johnson dream earth Ebenezer Elliott eloquent eternal Eugene Aram fancy feeling fire flowers genius gloom glory Goethe grandeur hand heart heaven hell human Iliad imagination immortal intellect James Hogg Joanna Baillie John Keats Keats language Leigh Hunt less light living Lochnagar lofty look Macbeth melancholy ment Milton mind mingled Mirabeau misery moral mountains Napoleon nature ness never night once Paradise Lost passion peculiar poem poet poetical poetry profound Prometheus prose racter scene Scott seems shadow Shakspere Shakspere's Shelley shining sion song soul speak spirit stars strong style sublime sweet tale tears thee things thou thought tion tone true truth ture verse voice whole wild wind wonder words Wordsworth writings written Yendys
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 163 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Seite 228 - Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho...
Seite 29 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Seite 223 - 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.
Seite 108 - The breath whose 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.
Seite 49 - 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.
Seite 161 - THE skies they were ashen and sober, The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir — It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Seite 141 - Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist.
Seite 254 - And there shall be signs in the sun and in the moon and in the stars, and upon the earth distress of nations with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring, men's hearts failing them for fear and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth ; for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
Seite 221 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.