Poems

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G. Bell, 1888 - 109 страници

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Страница 33 - ... hardly to have dreamed of a higher state of the human mind than was then exhibited. Milton, on the other hand, burned with a deep, yet calm love of moral grandeur and celestial purity. He thought, not so much of what man is, as of what he might become. His own mind was a revelation to him of a higher condition of humanity, and to promote this he thirsted and toiled for freedom, as the element for the growth and improvement of his nature.
Страница 33 - He esteemed it in himself as a kind of inspiration, and wrote his great works with something of the conscious dignity of a prophet. We agree with Milton in his estimate of poetry. It seems to us the divinest of all arts...
Страница 56 - To excel the natural with made delights : And all, that fair or pleasant may be found, In riotous excess doth there abound. There he arriving, round about doth fly, From bed to bed, from one to other border ; And takes survey, with curious busy eye.
Страница 36 - And the vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine, which cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees ? Then said all the trees unto the bramble, Come thou, and reign over us.
Страница viii - It was once observed of him that he had many of the faculties, all the virtues, and scarcely one of the faults generally supposed to be connected with the mind and temperament of a poet.
Страница 30 - AY — like a conqueror marching to his rest, The warfare finished and the victory won, And all the pageant of his triumph done — Seeks his resplendent chamber in the West : Yon clouds, like pursuivants and heralds drest In gorgeous blazonry, troop slowly on, Bearing abroad the banners of the sun That proudly stream o'er many a warrior's crest. In the azure field a solitary star Lifts its pale signal, and the glorious train Of errant sunbeams, straggling from afar, Reform their glittering ranks,...
Страница 25 - THE POETS. The Poets — are they dead? — Earth thou hast ta'en Their perishable dust — 'twas thine to claim; But lasting as thy fabric is the fame Which scarce thy stretched limits can contain: Ungracious Mother! — they were heirs of pain And chilling poverty and causeless shame, The dungeon's gloom without the prisoner's blame, And madness grappling with the Fates in vain.
Страница v - IN that truly delightful volume, English Sonnets by Poets of the Past, edited by Mr. Waddington, and published by Messrs. George Bell and Sons, in 1882, there was one Sonnet, the last in the book, by George Morine. It was entitled "Sunset," and it at once attracted the attention of leading critics. A desire was expressed at the time, and subsequently, that more of the same poet's work should be given to the world. It is to meet this desire that the present volume is published.

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