Selections from the Writings of Walter Savage Landor

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Macmillan, 1882 - 375 страници
 

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Страница xi - Did send a dismal sheen : Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around : It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound...
Страница 269 - Morte d'Arthur.— SIR THOMAS MALORY'S BOOK OF KING ARTHUR AND OF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. The original Edition of CAXTON, revised for Modern Use. With an Introduction by Sir EDWARD STRACHEY, Bart. pp. xxxvii., 509. "It is with perfect confidence that we recommend this edition of the old romance to every class of readers.
Страница 80 - But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave : Shake one and it awakens, then apply Its polisht lips to your attentive ear, And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.
Страница 241 - I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife: Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art: I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life; It sinks; and I am ready to depart.
Страница 218 - HERE, where precipitate Spring with one light bound Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires ; And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night...
Страница 269 - A more complete edition of Virgil in English it is scarcely possible to conceive than the scholarly work before us.
Страница 90 - THRASYMEDES AND EUNOE. WHO will away to Athens with me ? who Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers, Unenvious ? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail. I promise ye, as many as are here, Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine Of a low vineyard or a plant ill-pruned, But such as anciently the .(Egean isles Pour'd in libation at their solemn feasts : And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embost With no vile figures of loose languid boors, But such...
Страница 218 - Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
Страница 238 - When better boys were taught, But thou at length hast made me sage, If I am sage in aught.
Страница xiii - tis and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely, and all die (Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart) Among their kindred in their native place. I never pluck the rose ; the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank And not reproached me ; the ever-sacred cup Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoiled, nor lost one grain of gold.

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