Essays by Divers Hands

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Seite 28 - Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep" — the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care; The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast — Lady M. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cried "Sleep no more!
Seite 132 - If we would copy nature, it may be useful to take this idea along with us, that pastoral is an image of what they call the golden age. So that we are not to describe our shepherds as shepherds at this day really are, but as they may be conceived then to have been ; when the best of men followed the employment.
Seite 5 - Must lackey a dumb Art that best can suit The taste of this once-intellectual Land. A backward movement surely have we here, From manhood, back to childhood ; for the age, Back towards caverned life's first rude career. Avaunt this vile abuse of pictured page ! Must...
Seite 84 - Pepino! old trees in their living state are the only things that money cannot command. Rivers leave their beds, run into cities, and traverse mountains for it; obelisks and arches, palaces and temples, amphitheatres and pyramids, rise up like exhalations at its bidding; even the free spirit of Man, the only thing great on earth, crouches and cowers in its presence. It passes away and vanishes before venerable trees. What a sweet odour is here! whence comes it? sweeter it appears to me and stronger...
Seite 76 - I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart. ON DEATH Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.
Seite 84 - Laodameia died; Helen died; Leda, the beloved of Jupiter, went before. It is better to repose in the earth betimes than to sit up late; better, than to cling pertinaciously to what we feel crumbling under us, and to protract an inevitable fall. We may enjoy the present, while we are insensible of infirmity and decay; but the present, like a note in music, is nothing but as it appertains to what is past and what is to come. There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave; there are no voices,...
Seite 132 - Mecaenas is yclad in claye, And great Augustus long ygoe is dead, And all the worthies liggen wrapt in leade, That matter made for Poets on to play : For ever, who in derring-doe were dreade, The loftie verse of hem was loved aye.
Seite 76 - THE leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird The whole wood through. Winter may come: he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire The River of Life 407 Where old friends meet. Let him; now heaven is overcast, And spring and summer both are past, And all things sweet.
Seite 103 - They are those in which the suffering finds no~ vent in action ; in which a continuous state of mental distress is prolonged, unrelieved by incident, hope, or resistance ; I in which there is everything to be endured, nothing to be done.
Seite 132 - We must therefore use some illusion to render a Pastoral delightful ; and this consists in exposing the best side only of a shepherd's life, and in concealing its miseries.