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Nugae Criticae: Occasional Papers Written at the Seaside
John Skelton, Sir
No preview available - 2016
admirable appears artist beauty become believe better birds body called century character charming Christian Church colour comes confidence course criticism dead death divine doubt effect England English expression eyes face fact fair fall feeling follow forced friends genius Government grave Greek hand head heart hold House human imagination Italy John king land least leaves less liberty light live look Lord means mind moral morning natural never night noble once opinion party passed passion past perhaps picture poet political practical present question religious remain respect rest rich rise rocks seen sense side simple society sometimes soul spirit stand strong sure tell things thought tion toleration touch true truth whole wild winter write young
Page 15 - This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
Page 144 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Page 244 - The mountains look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea; And, musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
Page 323 - Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow. Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
Page 286 - In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, " The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!
Page 290 - All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
Page 175 - Leave thou thy sister when she prays Her early heaven, her happy views ; Nor thou with shadow'd hint confuse A life that leads melodious days. Her faith thro' form is pure as thine, Her hands are quicker unto good.
Page 164 - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for not without dust and heat.
Page 412 - Contemplating Spain, such as our ancestors had known her, I resolved that if France had Spain, it should not be Spain ' with the Indies.' I called the New World into existence to redress the balance of the Old.
Page 316 - The great problem of the shifting relation between passion and duty is clear to no man who is capable of apprehending it : the question whether the moment has come in which a man has fallen below the possibility of a renunciation that will carry any efficacy, and must accept the sway of a passion against which he had struggled as a trespass, is one for which we have no master-key that will fit all cases.