Selections from the Edinburgh Review ...

Maurice Cross
Baudry's European Library, 1835
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Seite 227 - that immortal sea Which brought us hither. Can in a moment travel thither. And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." Nor man nor boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence, in a season of calm weather,
Seite 23 - thousand ships. And burnt the topless towers of Ilium !— Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss— Her lips suck forth my soul .... Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be Paris, and for love of thee Instead of Troy shall
Seite 227 - us, and make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; To perish never ; Which neither listlessness, nor mad
Seite 227 - upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone : The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream !
Seite 227 - they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; To perish never ; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Though inland far we be, Our souls
Seite 318 - which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in—glittering like the morning star, full oflife, and splendour, and joy".—(Ibid.)
Seite 41 - Sir Henry Wotton, in a letter to Milton, " the tragical part, if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy in your songs and odes, whereunto, I must plainly confess to you, I have seen yet nothing parallel in our language." The criticism was just. It is when Milton escapes
Seite 195 - Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. " He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
Seite 57 - time when Hie press and the stage were most licentious. They were not men of letters ; they were as a body unpopular; they could not defend themselves; and the public would not take them under its protection. They were therefore abandoned, without reserve, to the tender mercies of the satirists and
Seite 6 - venom bites : When evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round Over the mount and all this hallow'd ground, And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tassell'd horn Shakes the high thicket, haste 1 all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout With