Saint Pauls, Volume 10Virtue and Company, 1872 - English literature |
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Common terms and phrases
Alfred de Musset answered asked Aunt Keziah beautiful berth better boat Brand Brandon cabin called Charles Dickens child colour Crayshaw criticism Curlew dark death deck delightful Demetrius dinner doctor dress drink England English eyes face feel felt flower George Sand girl give grave Guinevere hand happy head heard heart human immortal JEAN INGELOW Judas Iscariot kind knew lady laughed light live look Lord Houghton marriage Maurice mean mind mother NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE nature never night perhaps person phrenologist poem poet poetry poor Puritan replied ROBERT BUCHANAN Rose sail seemed Septimius Sibyl Dacy smile Snap sort soul spirit story strange suppose sure talk tell thee things thou thought told took turn Uncle Rollin wild wish woman women wonderful word yacht young
Popular passages
Page 485 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a Lamb!' So I piped with merry cheer. 'Piper, pipe that song again;
Page 486 - Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read.' So he vanish'd from my sight; And I pluck'da hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.
Page 289 - Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; While the ploughman, near at hand, ' Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Page 372 - I listened for a word, — But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, — no, he came not, — The night came on alone, — The little stars sat one by one, Each on his golden throne ; The evening air passed by my cheek, The leaves above were stirred ; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
Page 299 - Let no man dream but that I love thee still Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, Hereafter in that world where all are pure We two may meet before high God, and thou Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know I am thine husband— not a smaller soul, Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence. Thro...
Page 323 - The world is too much with us: late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
Page 298 - To see thee, laying there thy golden head, My pride in happier summers, at my feet. The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, The doom of treason and the flaming death, (When first I learnt thee hidden here) is past. The pang — which while I...
Page 138 - I do not write resentfully or angrily: for I know how all these things have worked together to make me what I am : but I never afterwards forgot, I never shall forget, I never can forget, that my mother was warm for my being sent back.
Page 298 - Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, I, whose vast pity almost makes me die To see thee, laying there thy golden head, My pride in happier summers, at my feet.
Page 297 - Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far more philosophical language, than that which is frequently substituted for it by Poets, who think that they are conferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnish food for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, of their own creation...