Cambridge Essays, Volume 1John W. Parker and son, 1855 |
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Page 3
... question , it was knocked down for 50 % . to the Comte de Montalivet . To dwell upon the importance of this unique copy as the touchstone of Molière's text , seems superfluous . The edition of 1682 has , however , a further merit ...
... question , it was knocked down for 50 % . to the Comte de Montalivet . To dwell upon the importance of this unique copy as the touchstone of Molière's text , seems superfluous . The edition of 1682 has , however , a further merit ...
Page 7
... question was a far closer bond than now . But even in the nineteenth century there are not a few , we apprehend , among those who have passed through our Universities , who will readily and grate- fully confess the tone and colour , the ...
... question was a far closer bond than now . But even in the nineteenth century there are not a few , we apprehend , among those who have passed through our Universities , who will readily and grate- fully confess the tone and colour , the ...
Page 8
... question . From them we learn that when Molière had finished his collegiate course , he applied himself to the study of the law , a fact which shows that Molière was destined for the liberal professions , and thus corroborates the fact ...
... question . From them we learn that when Molière had finished his collegiate course , he applied himself to the study of the law , a fact which shows that Molière was destined for the liberal professions , and thus corroborates the fact ...
Page 9
... question , Madeleine Béjart , offered greater attractions to young Molière than the pages of Cujas and Tribonian ; and as this lady was some years his senior , and not by any means inexperienced in the wiles of the world , we can easily ...
... question , Madeleine Béjart , offered greater attractions to young Molière than the pages of Cujas and Tribonian ; and as this lady was some years his senior , and not by any means inexperienced in the wiles of the world , we can easily ...
Page 13
... question is almost the only part which is entirely Molière's own , the rest being borrowed , either in idea or detail , from still worse Italian plays . The words ' dépit amoureux ' might be translated lovers ' quarrels , ' though the ...
... question is almost the only part which is entirely Molière's own , the rest being borrowed , either in idea or detail , from still worse Italian plays . The words ' dépit amoureux ' might be translated lovers ' quarrels , ' though the ...
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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...