Englische Studien, Volume 25

Voorkant
O. R. Reisland, 1898

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Pagina 405 - HIGH on a throne of royal state, • — which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus, and of Ind ; Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings Barbaric pearl and gold...
Pagina 407 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark, Surrounds me...
Pagina 290 - Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
Pagina 4 - Your People, Sir, are partial in the rest: Foes to all living worth except your own, And Advocates for folly dead and gone. Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old; It is the rust we value, not the gold. Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by rote, And beastly Skelton' Heads of houses quote: One likes no language but the Faery Queen; A Scot will fight for Christ's Kirk o...
Pagina 400 - Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude ; Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i...
Pagina 232 - ... corners did his joints make under his clothes. But in his face this was belied. His brow was oval and full over soft brown eyes, that seemed already to have drunk the sunlight under southern vines. The whole face had a tendency to an oval, Madonna-like type. But about the mouth, and in the mirthful, mocking light of the eyes, there lingered ever a ready Autolycus roguery that rather suggested sly Hermes masquerading as a mortal.
Pagina 227 - MY KINGDOM DOWN by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out, Some yellow and some red. I called the little pool a sea; The little hills were big to me; For I am very small. I made a boat, I made a town, I searched the caverns up and down, And named them one and all.
Pagina 290 - ... grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor his compeers by night, Giving him aid, my verse astonished. He, nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors of my silence cannot boast; I was not sick of any fear from thence. But when your countenance filled up his line, Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.
Pagina 405 - O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.
Pagina 402 - But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose : Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green ; Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods.

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