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admirable æsthetic Ahab appeared artist beauty Beggar's Opera bibliography called catalogue century character Charles Lamb charm Church collection colour Connacht copy criticism death edition EDMUND BLUNDEN EDWARD SHANKS El Greco England English essay eyes fact feel folio French Gay's give Goethe hand Hunt imagination interesting Italian J. C. SQUIRE Jane Austen John kind Kirkup Lady less letters Library literary literature living LONDON MERCURY look Lord matter mind Miss Moby Dick modern natural never novel Old Vic painter perhaps person play poems poet poetry portrait present Press printed prose published reader remarkable Roman seems sense Shakespeare Society song speak spirit story strange Street style Swinburne tell things thought to-day told translated verse volume W. J. TURNER whole words writing written wrote young
Page 182 - All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event - in the living act, the undoubted deed - there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask.
Page 304 - Warum ziehst du mich unwiderstehlich, Ach, in jene Pracht? War ich guter Junge nicht so selig In der öden Nacht? Heimlich in mein Zimmerchen verschlossen, Lag im Mondenschein, Ganz von seinem Schauerlicht umflossen, Und ich dämmert ein; Träumte da von vollen goldnen Stunden Ungemischter Lust, Hatte schon dein liebes Bild empfunden Tief in meiner Brust.
Page 334 - Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Page 275 - I sat down on a bank, such as a writer of romance might have delighted to feign. I had indeed no trees to whisper over my head, but a clear rivulet streamed at my feet. The day was calm, the air was soft, and all was rudeness, silence, and solitude.
Page 178 - Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end, These are thy honours ! not that here thy bust Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust ; But that the worthy and the good shall say, Striking their pensive bosoms — Here lies GAY...
Page 139 - RUNAWAY Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall, We stopped by a mountain pasture to say, 'Whose colt?' A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall, The other curled at his breast. He dipped his head And snorted at us. And then he had to bolt. We heard the miniature thunder where he fled, And we saw him, or thought we saw him, dim and grey, Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes.
Page 184 - The firm tower, that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, and victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab; and this round gold is but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician's glass, to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self.
Page 548 - No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?
Page 334 - Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.