Travels in England |
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ancient Avebury beautiful bird brambles called Cathedral charming Cheshire church Cirencester Cobbett Cotswolds course daughter descent from Sir doubt dream earth England English Evesham eyes face fancy feel flowers grass grave green Hall of Nether Hanger happy Hazlitt heart hill Hindhead human imagination John Kelmscott Lady lane Lechlade Liphook living lonely look Lord De Tabley Manour Market Drayton meadows memory miles mysterious nature ness Nether Tabley never nightjar Norman old Hall Old Sarum once one's perhaps Pewsey picture poems poet poetry rain realise remember river road Roman Romsey Salisbury Sarah Bernhardt seemed Selborne side silence Sir Edmund Antrobus Sir Nicholas Sir Peter Leycester speak stone Stonehenge strange Stratford sure Tabley House Tabley's things tion trees vallum verger village walk Warren Warren Hastings Wilton Winchcombe Winchester Winterslow wonder
Popular passages
Page 147 - ... his answer was, that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place. " for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do .not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting...
Page 61 - GARRICK. fO a homeless man, who has no spot on this wide world which he can truly call his own, there is a momentary feeling of something like independence and territorial consequence, when, after a weary day's travel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn fire.
Page 146 - In another walk to Salisbury, he saw a poor man, with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load. They were both in distress, and needed present help; which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after, to load his horse. The poor man.
Page 158 - You with shelly horns, rams ! and promontory goats, You whose browsing beards dip in coldest dew ! Bulls, that walk the pastures in kingly-flashing coats ! Laurel, ivy, vine, wreathed for feasts not few ! You that build the shade-roof...
Page 145 - His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his lute or viol ; and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to music was such, that he went usually twice every week on certain appointed days to the cathedral church in Salisbury ; and at his return would say...
Page 132 - Spenser is hardly yet returned from a ramble through the woods, or is concealed behind a group of nymphs, fawns and satyrs. Milton lies on the table, as on an altar, never taken up or laid down without reverence. Lyly's Endymion sleeps with the moon, that shines in at the 133 window ; and a breath of wind stirring at a distance seems a sigh from the tree under which he grew old.
Page 146 - The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man ; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse ; and told him — " That if he loved himself, he should be merciful to his beast.
Page 131 - After a long walk through unfrequented tracks, after starting the hare from the fern, or hearing the wing of the raven rustling above my head, or being greeted by the woodman's " stern goodnight," as he strikes into his narrow homeward path, I can " take mine ease at mine inn," beside the blazing hearth, and shake hands with Signer Orlando Friscobaldo, as the oldest acquaintance I have.
Page 131 - I write this ; but here, even here, with a few old authors, I can manage to get through the summer or the winter ' months, without ever knowing what it is to feel ennui.
Page 39 - Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noonday fire,— Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire, Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves,— Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves, Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood, Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good.