The Beginnings of the English Romantic Movement: A Study in Eighteenth Century Literature

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Ginn, 1893 - 192 pages
 

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Page 163 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man : And they that creep, and they that fly Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter thro...
Page 169 - I do not remember to have gone ten paces without an exclamation, that there was no restraining. Not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry.
Page 120 - D'URFEY'S (" Tom") WIT AND MIRTH ; or, PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY. Being a Collection of the best Merry Ballads and Songs, Old and New. Fitted to all Humours, having each their proper Tune for either Voice or Instrument ; most of the Songs being new set.
Page 179 - When it was grown to dark midnight, And all were fast asleep, In came Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet.
Page 26 - While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide. The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below. The grounds, which on the right aspire. In dimness from the view retire : The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves.
Page 164 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. Robed in the sable garb of woe. With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air), And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Page 106 - 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 bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.
Page 164 - King ! their hundred arms they wave,. Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
Page 27 - The seas that roll unnumber'd waves; The wood that spreads its shady leaves; The field whose ears conceal the grain, The yellow treasure of the plain; All of these, and all I see, Should be sung, and sung by me : They speak their maker as they can, But want and ask the tongue of man.
Page 91 - Fancy, from the scenes of folly, To meet the matron Melancholy, Goddess of the tearful eye, That loves to fold her arms, and sigh , Let us with silent footsteps go , To charnels and the house of woe, To Gothic churches, vaults, and tombs, Where each sad night some virgin comes, With throbbing breast, and faded cheek, Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to seek...

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