English Literature of the Nineteenth Century: On the Plan of the Author's "Compendium of English Literature", and Supplementary to It. Designed for Colleges and Advanced Classes in Schools, as Well as for Private Reading
E.C. & J. Biddle, 1853 - 785 pàgines
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English Literature of the Nineteenth Century: On the Plan of the Author's ...
Charles Dexter Cleveland
Visualització completa - 1853
admiration affection appeared beauty better born breath bright called cause character child Christian church course dark death deep delight early earth English father fear feel friends genius give grave hand happy head heart heaven honor hope hour human interest kind knowledge labor learning leave less light literary live London look Lord manner means mind moral morning nature never night o'er object once pass person pleasure poem poet poetry poor present principles published received rest Review rich round scene seems smile society soon soul speak spirit sweet taste tears thee thing thou thought tion true truth universal virtue voice volume whole writings young youth
Pàgina 158 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low— And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won.
Pàgina 296 - Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
Pàgina 188 - BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning, dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid; star of the east, the horizon adorning, guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining; low lies his head with the beasts of the stall; angels adore him in slumber reclining, Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all.
Pàgina 133 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Pàgina 162 - Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Pàgina 541 - And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength and skill ; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort and command ; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.
Pàgina 49 - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, » And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, O, how canst thou renounce^ and hope to be forgiven ! These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy,...
Pàgina 297 - Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall. Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon, DEJECTION.