Peter's Letters to His Kinsfolk, Том 1

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Страница 123 - Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie : His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Страница 141 - From that bleak tenement He, many an evening, to his distant home In solitude returning, saw the hills Grow larger in the darkness ; all alone Beheld the stars come out above his head, And travelled through the wood, with no one near To whom he might confess the things he saw.
Страница 220 - Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light: But, oh ! she dances such a way— No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.
Страница 141 - He had perceived the presence and the power Of greatness ; and deep feelings had impressed Great objects on his mind, with portraiture And colour so distinct, that on his mind They lay like substances, and almost seemed To haunt the bodily sense.
Страница 110 - Muse's lyre. Not beggar's brat on bulk begot ; Not bastard of a pedlar Scot ; Not boy brought up to cleaning shoes, The spawn of Bridewell or the stews...
Страница 134 - And now a widow, I must mourn The pleasures that will ne'er return; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on John Highlandman. RECITATIVO A pigmy scraper, wi...
Страница 141 - He had small need of books ; for many a tale Traditionary, round the mountains hung, And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, Nourished Imagination in her growth, And gave the Mind that apprehensive power By which she is made quick to recognise The moral properties and scope of things.
Страница 115 - Compound for sins they are inclined to By damning those they have no mind to.
Страница 55 - It is a face which any man would pass without observation in a crowd, because it is small and swarthy, and entirely devoid of lofty or commanding outlines — and besides, his stature is so low, that he might walk close under your chin or mine without ever catching the eye even for a moment.
Страница 127 - His declamation is often loose and irregular to an extent that is not quite worthy of a man of his fine education and masculine powers ; but all is redeemed, and more than redeemed, by his rich abundance of quick, generous, and expansive feeling. The flashing brightness, and now and then the still more expressive dimness of his eye — and the tremulous music of a voice that is equally at home in the highest and the lowest of...

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