Cambridge Essays, Volumul 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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Rezultatele 1 - 5 din 44
Pagina 1
... literature of his age was governed , or , on the other , the true and genuine manifestation of the man's own soul ? The vices and foibles he so greatly dares to ridicule , do they change their nature and their name , when stripped of ...
... literature of his age was governed , or , on the other , the true and genuine manifestation of the man's own soul ? The vices and foibles he so greatly dares to ridicule , do they change their nature and their name , when stripped of ...
Pagina 15
... literature what Frenchmen so dearly love ' esprit , ' - and thus supplied a welcome relief from the solemn pedantry of the sixteenth century . * Space will not admit of our continuing this enumeration of the members who flocked to the ...
... literature what Frenchmen so dearly love ' esprit , ' - and thus supplied a welcome relief from the solemn pedantry of the sixteenth century . * Space will not admit of our continuing this enumeration of the members who flocked to the ...
Pagina 17
... literature . We now proceed to a closer examination of Molière's play . Enter a brace of rejected lovers , whose homely ways have not found favour with Mesdemoiselles Madelon and Cathos , the nieces of an honest , simple - minded ...
... literature . We now proceed to a closer examination of Molière's play . Enter a brace of rejected lovers , whose homely ways have not found favour with Mesdemoiselles Madelon and Cathos , the nieces of an honest , simple - minded ...
Pagina 20
... literature are the points of contact and of difference which it offers when contrasted with the Adelphi of the sententious Terence , or the piquant tales of the De- cameron ; interesting from a different point of view , that is , from ...
... literature are the points of contact and of difference which it offers when contrasted with the Adelphi of the sententious Terence , or the piquant tales of the De- cameron ; interesting from a different point of view , that is , from ...
Pagina 26
... literature of Spain . The churches of that country had indeed previously witnessed the representation of a mystery , ' or auto - sacramentale , called the " Ateista fulminado . ' This , however , was probably a very bald affair , when ...
... literature of Spain . The churches of that country had indeed previously witnessed the representation of a mystery , ' or auto - sacramentale , called the " Ateista fulminado . ' This , however , was probably a very bald affair , when ...
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action Admiral Alceste allotropic American aragonite batteries beauty become bodies bromine called cause character chemical circumstances colour Comédie Française comedy common compound death doubt dramatic effect elements emotion enemy England English excite expression fact feelings force French genius geographical give Greek heart hero Hôtel de Rambouillet human hydrogen instance interest iodine kind language Le Misanthrope Le Tartuffe less literature live Locksley Hall marriage matter means mind modern Molière Molière's moral nature never novel novelists object observed ordinary passed passion peculiar perhaps person phosphorus picture play poem poet poetry Précieuses present principle racter reader remarkable represented Robinson Crusoe sail scene Shakspeare ships society steam story suppose Sveaborg Tartuffe temperature Tennyson things thought tion Tirso de Molina traveller true truth whole words writer
Pasaje populare
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...