Cambridge Essays, Volumul 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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Pagina 5
... story of the house of flesh . That one who was destined by fate ( whatever that is ) to polish his mother tongue with the graces of thought should be doomed to spend life's early prime in polishing his father's tables with spirit of ...
... story of the house of flesh . That one who was destined by fate ( whatever that is ) to polish his mother tongue with the graces of thought should be doomed to spend life's early prime in polishing his father's tables with spirit of ...
Pagina 22
... stories about the infidelities of Molière's wife and the miseries of Molière's home , to which no place will be assigned in these pages , the writer believing , with M. Bazin , that the main links in the evidence are so rotten that they ...
... stories about the infidelities of Molière's wife and the miseries of Molière's home , to which no place will be assigned in these pages , the writer believing , with M. Bazin , that the main links in the evidence are so rotten that they ...
Pagina 26
... story goes on to state that the monks of San Francisco were so scandalized at this and other like excesses on the part of Don Juan , whose illustrious birth enabled him to evade the penalties of the law , that they enticed him into ...
... story goes on to state that the monks of San Francisco were so scandalized at this and other like excesses on the part of Don Juan , whose illustrious birth enabled him to evade the penalties of the law , that they enticed him into ...
Pagina 30
... story turns on a girl who shams illness because her father will not allow her to marry . It is in the first scene - where all sorts of suggestions are tendered for effecting a cure , among others , a present of jewellery - that those ...
... story turns on a girl who shams illness because her father will not allow her to marry . It is in the first scene - where all sorts of suggestions are tendered for effecting a cure , among others , a present of jewellery - that those ...
Pagina 34
... story about being asked his opinion on some daub of a portrait : he made use of the stereotyped answer to such inquiries , namely that ' it was a capital likeness . ' The absurd part of the affair is , that Rousseau then smites upon his ...
... story about being asked his opinion on some daub of a portrait : he made use of the stereotyped answer to such inquiries , namely that ' it was a capital likeness . ' The absurd part of the affair is , that Rousseau then smites upon his ...
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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...