Sidelights on Charles Lamb

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The author, 1903 - 370 pages

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Page 105 - Where Angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.
Page 117 - In regions mild of .calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call Earth...
Page 58 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Page 195 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret...
Page 250 - Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John Went to bed with his breeches on.' " The man in office, finding Wordsworth did not know who he was, said in a spasmodic and half-chuckling anticipation of assured victory, ' I have had the honour of some correspondence with you, Mr. Wordsworth.' ' With me, sir ? ' said Wordsworth,
Page 148 - But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once. The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire; Adieu, adieu, adieu, remember me.
Page 34 - It were a life of gods to dwell in such an element : to see, and hear, and talk brave things.
Page 138 - She was none of your lukewarm gamesters, your half-and-half players, who have no objection to take a hand, if you want one to make up a rubber ; who affirm that they have no pleasure in winning ; that they like to win one game and lose another ; that they can while away an hour very agreeably at a card-table, but are indifferent whether they play or no ; and will desire an adversary who has slipped a wrong card to take it up and play another.
Page 316 - FREE THOUGHTS ON SEVERAL EMINENT COMPOSERS. SOME cry up Haydn, some Mozart, Just as the whim bites ; for my part, I do not care a farthing candle For either of them, or for Handel.
Page 250 - then you are a silly fellow." "Charles! my dear Charles!" said Wordsworth; but Lamb, perfectly innocent of the confusion he had created, was off again by the fire. After an awful pause the comptroller said: "Don't you think Newton a great genius ?" I could not stand it any longer. Keats put his head into my books. Ritchie squeezed in a laugh. Wordsworth seemed asking himself: "Who is this?

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