Cambridge Essays, Volumul 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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... HUGHES , M.A. . . 193 VIII . Alfred Tennyson's Poems . By GEORGE BRIMLEY , M.A. 226 IX . General Education and Classical Studies . By WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK , M.A. • 281 · CAMBRIDGE ESSAYS . LIBRA OF THE R UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA THE.
... HUGHES , M.A. . . 193 VIII . Alfred Tennyson's Poems . By GEORGE BRIMLEY , M.A. 226 IX . General Education and Classical Studies . By WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK , M.A. • 281 · CAMBRIDGE ESSAYS . LIBRA OF THE R UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA THE.
Pagina 43
... poem ; that is , a composition and pattern of the honourablest things . ' In few cases , we firmly believe , has the truth of this principle met with a fitter illus- tration than in the person of Jean Baptiste Poquelin Molière . Shoals ...
... poem ; that is , a composition and pattern of the honourablest things . ' In few cases , we firmly believe , has the truth of this principle met with a fitter illus- tration than in the person of Jean Baptiste Poquelin Molière . Shoals ...
Pagina 51
... poems . " But this is not all . Man belongs to a higher and wider community than civil polity has ever organized ; he is member of a nation , but nations themselves are only fractions of one vast integer - Humanity . He may be Saxon or ...
... poems . " But this is not all . Man belongs to a higher and wider community than civil polity has ever organized ; he is member of a nation , but nations themselves are only fractions of one vast integer - Humanity . He may be Saxon or ...
Pagina 173
... poem , and the descrip- tion of scenery merely an accessory . ( For our present purposes , therefore , sentimentality ' may be described as being that way of writing which makes use of emotions of tenderness or the like , as accessories ...
... poem , and the descrip- tion of scenery merely an accessory . ( For our present purposes , therefore , sentimentality ' may be described as being that way of writing which makes use of emotions of tenderness or the like , as accessories ...
Pagina 192
... poem , or a satire , or a play , or a depository for beauties , Robinson Crusoe has been surpassed again and again ; but if a novel is properly and primarily a fictitious biography , and if we have fairly stated its general objects and ...
... poem , or a satire , or a play , or a depository for beauties , Robinson Crusoe has been surpassed again and again ; but if a novel is properly and primarily a fictitious biography , and if we have fairly stated its general objects and ...
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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
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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...