Leaflets, Vydání 71–90Oxford University Press, 1928 |
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A. C. Bradley appear artist beauty Bridges C. H. Herford Caesar called Casterbridge century character Christina Rossetti colour criticism delight drama Emily Brontë emotion England English Association example expression F. S. Boas Farfrae feeling friends genius give grammar Greek Hamlet Hardy Hardy's Henchard Henry human Ibid Il Penseroso imagination instance interest King L'Allegro Lady Anne Sunderland Lady Halkett language Lear Leasowes less letters literary literature Lord Luxborough Mayor of Casterbridge Milton mind modern nature never Newspaper novel novelist oratory Othello passage Penseroso perhaps person phrase play poems poet poetic poetry political Prolusion prose romance Scott seems sense Shakespeare Shakespearian Shenstone Smart Song soul speak speech story style taste things Thomas Hardy thought tion to-day Tolstoy tragedy true truth unnatural utter Verney Memoirs verse Victorian W. E. Henley Whibley whole William Shenstone words writing written wrote
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Strana 11 - HENCE loathed Melancholy Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian Cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-Raven sings; There, under Ebon shades, and low-browed Rocks, As ragged as thy Locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Strana 3 - A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come.
Strana 4 - Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Strana 12 - I waked one morning, in the beginning of last June, from a dream, of which, all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story), and that on the uppermost banister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.
Strana 12 - I was very glad to think of anything, rather than politics. In short, I was so engrossed with my tale, which I completed in less than two months, that one evening, I wrote from the time I had drunk my tea, about six o'clock, till half an hour after one in the morning, when my hand and fingers were so weary, that I could not hold the pen to finish the sentence, but left Matilda and Isabella talking, in the middle of a paragraph.
Strana 14 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Strana 4 - Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession! but the record fair That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid...
Strana 18 - She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute, insensate things.