Literary Studies from the Great British Authors (Google eBook)

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American school book Company, 1880 - English literature - 440 pages
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Page 187 - Await alike the inevitable hour ; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, ' If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Page 378 - We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from thee, ' A beam in darkness: let it grow. Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell: That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before. But vaster.
Page 246 - mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes!
Page 200 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven, As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm ; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 325 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Page 167 - Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached the ground encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it.
Page 248 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake To perish never ; Which neither listlessness nor mad endeavor Nor man nor boy Nor all that is at enmity with joy Can utterly abolish or destroy.
Page 241 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Page 241 - She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight: A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
Page 248 - Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise...

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