The Romantic TriumphCharles Scribner's sons, 1900 - 408 oldal |
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41. oldal - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
49. oldal - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
48. oldal - A light is passed from the revolving year, And man, and woman ; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join together.
7. oldal - I put my hat upon my head And walked into the Strand, And there I met another man Whose hat was in his hand. Immediately under these lines let us place one of the most justly admired stanzas of the "Babes in the Wood.
82. oldal - That young lady had a talent for describing the involvements, and feelings, and characters of ordinary life, which is to me the most wonderful I ever met with. The Big Bow-wow strain I can do myself like any now going ; but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment, is denied to me.
49. oldal - That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
11. oldal - Bearing before them, in their course, The relics of the archer force, Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. Above the tide, each broadsword bright Was brandishing like beam of light, Each targe was dark below; And with the ocean's mighty swing, When heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurl'd them on the foe.
40. oldal - Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! — unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? The land of honourable death Is here: — up to the field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around and choose thy ground, And take thy rest.
49. oldal - Epipsychidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles ; you might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as expect anything human or earthly from me.
50. oldal - Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.