Memorials of Mrs. Hemans: With Illustrations of Her Literary Character from Her Private Correspondence, Том 1

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Carey, Lea & Blanchard, 1836 - 273 страници
 

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Страница 59 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Страница v - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Страница 104 - Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep...
Страница 37 - Golden lamps hid in a night of green ;" or of those Spanish gardens where the pomegranate grows beside the cypress. Her gladness was like a burst of sun-light ; and if, in her depression, she resembled night, it was night bearing her stars.
Страница 19 - There is none, In all this cold and hollow world, no fount Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within A mother's heart.
Страница 39 - COME, let me make a sunny realm around thee, Of thought and beauty ! Here are books and flowers. With spells to loose the fetter which hath bound thee — The ravell'd coil of this world's feverish hours.
Страница 108 - There is a daily beauty in his life," which is in such lovely harmony with his poetry, that I am thankful to have witnessed and felt it. He gives me a good deal of his society, reads to me, walks with me, leads my pony when I ride, and I begin to talk with him as with a sort of paternal friend. The whole of this morning he kindly passed in reading to me a great deal from Spenser, and afterwards his own " Laodamia," my favourite " Tintern Abbey," and many of those noble sonnets which you, like myself,...
Страница 137 - ... often connected with the passionate study of art in early life; deep affections and deep sorrows seem to have solemnized my whole being, and I now feel as if bound to higher and holier tasks, which, though I may occasionally lay aside, I could not long wander from without some sense of dereliction. I hope it is no self-delusion, but I cannot help sometimes feeling as if it were my true task to enlarge the sphere of sacred poetry, and extend its influence. When you receive my volume of " Scenes...
Страница 104 - The ground is laid out in rather an antiquated style, which, now that nature is beginning to reclaim it from art, I do not at all dislike. There is a little grassy terrace immediately under the window, descending to a small court with a circular grass plot, on which grows one tall white rose tree.
Страница 112 - Spring — The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs ? Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing, Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art : What wak'st thou in the heart ? Too much, O, there too much!

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