What people are saying - Write a review
Other editions - View all
admirable Aurora Leigh beautiful Brantly character Charlemont Charleston Christian civilization Crafton critic daugh death dreams duel Estcourt evil expression eyes face fancy fear feel Frances Frances Temple Frank gazed gemsbok genius gentleman Gilbert girl give Goethe Guestier hand head heart heaven honor human intel intellectual labor lady less light live look Lord Cornwallis Margaret Fuller Ossoli ment mind Miss Felton Miss Frances moral morning nature ness never night North opinion passed passion poem poet poetry present reader reply scene seemed sion slave slavery smile social society song sonnet soon soul South speak spirit strange tain taste thing thou thought Thuggee tion true truth turn Victor Hugo voice whole Winther woman words write young
Page 54 - And now we rushed into the embraces of the cataract, where a chasm threw itself open to receive us. But there arose in our pathway a shrouded human figure, very far larger in its proportions than any dweller among men. And the hue of the skin of the figure was of the perfect whiteness of the snow.
Page 49 - And in regard to Truth, if, to be sure, through the attainment of a truth we are led to perceive a harmony where none was apparent before, we experience at once the true poetical effect, but this effect is referable to the harmony alone, and not in the least degree to the truth which merely served to render the harmony manifest.
Page 375 - Worldkin. Produce ! Produce ! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a Product, produce it, in God's name ! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee : out with it, then. Up, up ! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might. Work while it is called Today ; for the Night cometh, wherein no man can work.
Page 63 - I HAVE often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all evils. All that which is past is as a dream; and he that hopes or depends upon time coming, dreams waking.
Page 92 - How different a way of thinking from this is ours ! We can hardly at the present day understand what Menander meant, when he told a man who inquired as to the progress of his comedy that he had finished it, not having yet written a single line, because he had constructed the action of it in his mind. A modern critic would have assured him that the merit of his piece depended on the brilliant things which arose under his pen as he went along.
Page 276 - He rose at seven, sometimes earlier, after a sound and prolonged sleep ; for, like Thorwaldsen, he had a " talent for sleeping," only surpassed by his talent for continuous work. Till eleven he worked without interruption. A cup of chocolate was then brought, and he resumed work till one. At two he dined. This meal was the important meal of the day. His appetite was immense. Even on the clays when he complained of not being hungry, he ate much more than most men.
Page 380 - Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 93 - And a warm west-wind blows, and thaw sets in — After an hour a dripping sound is heard In all the forests, and the soft-strewn snow Under the trees is dibbled thick with holes, And from the boughs the snowloads shuffle down; And, in fields sloping to the south, dark plots Of grass peep out amid surrounding snow, And widen, and the peasant's heart is glad — So through the world was heard a dripping noise Of all things weeping to bring Balder back; And there fell joy upon the Gods to hear.
Page 560 - This world is a world of lies; A cup to the dead already — Hurrah for the next that dies! Cut off from the land that bore us, Betrayed by the land we find, Where the brightest have gone before us, And the dullest remain behind— Stand, stand to your glasses steady! 'Tis all we have left to prize; A cup to the dead already — And hurrah for the next that dies!
Page 96 - Oh ! that we two were Maying Down the stream of the soft spring breeze ; Like children with violets playing In the shade of the whispering trees. Oh ! that we two sat dreaming On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down Watching the white mist steaming Over river and mead and town. Oh ! that we two lay sleeping In our nest in the churchyard sod, With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, And our souls at home with God ! Lewis. Ah, turn away those swarthy diamonds...