Old Shrines and Ivy

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Macmillan, 1892 - Great Britain - 296 pages
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Page 182 - I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past the wit of man to say what dream it was: — Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream.
Page 37 - And Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, unto whom the word of the Lord came, saying, Israel shall be thy name : and with the stones he built an altar in the name of the Lord : and he made a trench about the altar, as great as would contain two measures of seed.
Page 220 - O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
Page 199 - Venus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his sugred Sonnets among his private friends, &c. — As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and tragedy among the Latines, so Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage...
Page 182 - The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
Page 255 - Dear Bob, — I have not anything to leave thee, to perpetuate my memory, but two helpless girls ; look upon them, sometimes ; and think of him that was, to the last moment of his life, thine, — GEORGE FARQUHAR.
Page 192 - A | Pleasant | Conceited Comedie | called, | Loues labors, lost. | As it was presented before her Highnes | this last Christmas. | Newly corrected and augmented | By W. Shakespere.
Page 301 - He offers something more than guidance to the American traveller. He is a convincing and eloquent interpreter of the august memories and venerable sanctities of the old country.
Page 298 - The verse of Mr. Winter is dedicated mainly to love and wine, to flowers and birds and dreams, to the hackneyed and never- to-be-exhausted repertory of the old singers. His instincts are strongly conservative; his confessed aim is to belong to ' that old school of English Lyrical Poetry, of which gentleness is the soul, and simplicity the garment.
Page 271 - Longfellow liked to talk of young poets, and he had an equally humorous and kind way of noticing the foibles of the literary character. Standing in the porch, one summer day, and observing the noble elms in front of his house, he recalled a visit made to him, long before, by one of the many bards, now extinct, who are embalmed in Griswold. Then suddenly assuming a burly, martial air, he seemed to reproduce for me the exact figure and manner of the youthful enthusiast — who had...

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