Cambridge Essays, Volumul 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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Pagina 10
... least severe of Molière's trials was the fact that among the spectators were the ' troupe royale ' of the ' Théâtre de l'Hôtel de Bourgogne . ' The lordly lines of Corneille's Nicomede , a noble play , had scarcely died upon the ear ...
... least severe of Molière's trials was the fact that among the spectators were the ' troupe royale ' of the ' Théâtre de l'Hôtel de Bourgogne . ' The lordly lines of Corneille's Nicomede , a noble play , had scarcely died upon the ear ...
Pagina 19
... least uneasy about being eclipsed by the author of Don Garcie de Navarre ; ou , le Prince Jaloux . So coldly was it received , that in a few days Molière withdrew it ; reserving to himself the right , hereafter , of transferring some ...
... least uneasy about being eclipsed by the author of Don Garcie de Navarre ; ou , le Prince Jaloux . So coldly was it received , that in a few days Molière withdrew it ; reserving to himself the right , hereafter , of transferring some ...
Pagina 25
... least interesting , assuredly , is the naïveté with which Jansenist and Jesuit chuckled as each fancied that the other was the object of attack . This kind of popularity , however , was not enough to satisfy Molière's heart . As an ami ...
... least interesting , assuredly , is the naïveté with which Jansenist and Jesuit chuckled as each fancied that the other was the object of attack . This kind of popularity , however , was not enough to satisfy Molière's heart . As an ami ...
Pagina 40
... least , he had never read one through : he had seen some of Boursault's works , and fancied that all other plays were much the same as his . Oh , blessed Boursault ! oh , simple , credulous Caffaro ! The recantation made , Bossuet ...
... least , he had never read one through : he had seen some of Boursault's works , and fancied that all other plays were much the same as his . Oh , blessed Boursault ! oh , simple , credulous Caffaro ! The recantation made , Bossuet ...
Pagina 45
... least it made literature the fashion . If it did not give anything worth reading , it fur- nished a reading public for the great masters of the art who were to come . This literature , thus inaugurated , may be regarded under various ...
... least it made literature the fashion . If it did not give anything worth reading , it fur- nished a reading public for the great masters of the art who were to come . This literature , thus inaugurated , may be regarded under various ...
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Pagina 43 - 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...
Pagina 280 - but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries " a thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more.
Pagina 246 - Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon.
Pagina 280 - Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed — Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, Or seal'd within the iron hills ? No more ? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail ! 0 for thy voice to soothe and bless ! What hope of answer, or redress ? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
Pagina 81 - And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind. And one, a foreground black with stones and slags, Beyond a line of heights, and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home— gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Pagina 261 - Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.
Pagina 261 - Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Pagina 245 - Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence: But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands.
Pagina 262 - I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.
Pagina 278 - Unfettered by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate'er...