Cambridge Essays, Volume 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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Page 32
... human being . The cor- rective to this morbid moroseness is to be found , adds Plato , in the reflection , that whereas men unexceptionably good , and unexceptionably bad , are rarely to be met with , the middle sort form the great bulk ...
... human being . The cor- rective to this morbid moroseness is to be found , adds Plato , in the reflection , that whereas men unexceptionably good , and unexceptionably bad , are rarely to be met with , the middle sort form the great bulk ...
Page 33
... humanity thou never knewest , but the extremity of both ends , ' coincides so entirely with Plato's notion on the subject , that we could almost fancy the above passage of the Phædo had been present to Shakspeare's mind . The middle of ...
... humanity thou never knewest , but the extremity of both ends , ' coincides so entirely with Plato's notion on the subject , that we could almost fancy the above passage of the Phædo had been present to Shakspeare's mind . The middle of ...
Page 35
... human nature , drawn music from the finest fibres of the heart , and extorted pity , even for the deserved agonies ... humanity in the background ; while he brings to the fore one of those social foibles which do not accompany a man into ...
... human nature , drawn music from the finest fibres of the heart , and extorted pity , even for the deserved agonies ... humanity in the background ; while he brings to the fore one of those social foibles which do not accompany a man into ...
Page 41
... human nature in being able to recal the criticism pronounced upon the author of Tartuffe by the milder Fénélon : Encore une fois , je le trouve grand . ' 6 Four years elapsed between this representation of Tartuffe and the death of ...
... human nature in being able to recal the criticism pronounced upon the author of Tartuffe by the milder Fénélon : Encore une fois , je le trouve grand . ' 6 Four years elapsed between this representation of Tartuffe and the death of ...
Page 43
... humanity with wealth of wit and words of wisdom . * Milton has prettily observed : He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things , ought himself to be a true poem ; that is , a composition and ...
... humanity with wealth of wit and words of wisdom . * Milton has prettily observed : He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things , ought himself to be a true poem ; that is , a composition and ...
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Popular passages
Page 43 - 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...
Page 280 - but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries " a thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more.
Page 246 - Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon.
Page 280 - Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed — Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, Or seal'd within the iron hills ? No more ? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail ! 0 for thy voice to soothe and bless ! What hope of answer, or redress ? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
Page 81 - And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind. And one, a foreground black with stones and slags, Beyond a line of heights, and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home— gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Page 261 - Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.
Page 261 - Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Page 245 - Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence: But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands.
Page 262 - I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.
Page 278 - Unfettered by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate'er...