The Spirit of the Age Or Contemporary Portraits, Band 2Colburn, 1825 - 424 Seiten |
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Seite 263
... Loosens her fragrant boddice ; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees : Half - hidden , like a mermaid in sea - weed , Pensive awhile she dreams awake , and sees , In fancy , fair St. Agnes in her bed , But dares not ...
... Loosens her fragrant boddice ; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees : Half - hidden , like a mermaid in sea - weed , Pensive awhile she dreams awake , and sees , In fancy , fair St. Agnes in her bed , But dares not ...
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admiration affectation argument beauty Ben Jonson Bentham breath Caleb Williams candour character Cobbett Coleridge common common-place critic delight Edinburgh Review eloquence equally fancy feelings flowers friends genius give Godwin grace ground habit hand heart Heaven honour House human idle imagination intellect Irving JEREMY BENTHAM less liberty light live look Lord Byron LORD ELDON Lyrical Ballads Malthus manner means ment mind modern moral Muse nature ness never object opinion pain passion perhaps person philosopher poem poet poetical poetry political popular prejudices pretensions pride principle quaint question racter reader reason Review Scotch sense sentiment servility Sir Francis Burdett Sir James Mackintosh Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott sort Southey speak spirit spleen striking style talent taste thing thought tion tone Tooke truth turn vanity verse virtue Whig wild word writings
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 363 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few, shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Seite 143 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Seite 362 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Seite 58 - That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct As water is in water.
Seite 398 - High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
Seite 262 - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
Seite 70 - Diminished shrunk from the more withering scene ! Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity ! Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood ! Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood : Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy ! LINES COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795.
Seite 382 - Now, upon SYRIA'S land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Seite 191 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Seite 262 - But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.