“The” Spirit of the Age, Or Contemporary PortraitsGalignani, 1825 |
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admiration affections argument beauty Ben Jonson Bentham breath casuistry character Claude Lorraine Cobbett Coleridge common common-place criticism delight Edinburgh Review eloquence equally fancy favour feeling French Revolution friends genius give Godwin grace ground habit hand heart heaven honour House human humour imagination intellect interest Irving less liberty light live look Lord Byron LORD ELDON Lyrical Ballads Malthus manner means ment mind modern moral Muse nature ness never object opinion orator Paine passion perhaps person philosophical poet poetical poetry political popular prejudice pretensions principle quaint question racter reason romantic seems sense Sir Francis Burdett Sir James Sir James Mackintosh Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott sophism sort Southey speak speeches spirit spleen stand striking style talent thing thought tical tion tone Tooke truth turn verse voice Whigs word Wordsworth writings
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Стр. 146 - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Стр. 116 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Стр. 137 - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
Стр. 57 - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
Стр. 116 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast...
Стр. 106 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Стр. 108 - It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.
Стр. 115 - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
Стр. 136 - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Стр. 119 - I WISH I was where Anna lies, For I am sick of lingering here ; And every hour, affection cries, Go and partake her humble bier. I wish I could ! for when she died, I lost my all ; and life has proved, Since that sad hour, a dreary void, A waste unlovely, and unloved.