The spirit of the age: or, Contemporary portraits [by William Hazlitt.].

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Seite 62 - That which was now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct As water is in water." Our author's mind is (as he himself might express it) tangential. There is no* subject on which he has not touched, none on which
Seite 200 - Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre." Mr. Campbell's prose-criticisms on contemporary and other poets (which have appeared in the New Monthly Magazine) are in a style at once chaste, temperate, guarded, and just. Mr. Crabbe presents an entire contrast to
Seite 301 - hurried in; Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air and visions wide: No utter'd syllable, or woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her heart in vain, and die, heart-stifled,
Seite 155 - The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle , of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles, who were all -Normans, affords a strong proof of the excesses of which they were capable when their passions were inflamed.
Seite 406 - forever ! my task is done— The gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won ! Oh ! am I not happy? I am, I am— To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,
Seite 98 - We remember finding the volume in the orchard at Burford-bridge near Boxhill, and passing a whole and very delightful morning in reading it, without quitting the shade of an apple-tree. We have not been able to pay Mr. Irving's back the same compliment of reading it at a sitting.
Seite 196 - years had gone, Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue summer shone. " And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, When sire and daughter saw. with fleet descent, An Indian from his hark approach their
Seite 132 - Land;—barren, miserable, distant, a place of exile, the dreary abode of savages, convicts, and adventurers. Sir Walter would make a bad hand of a description of the Millennium, unless he could lay the scene in Scotland five hundred years ago, and then he would want facts and worm-eaten parchments to support his
Seite 145 - and Rob Roy (like the eagle in his eyry), and Baillie Nicol Jarvie, and the inimitable Major Galbraith, and Rashleigh Osbaldistone, and Die Vernon, the best of secret-keepers; and in the Antiquary, the ingenious and abstruse Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck, and the old beadsman Edie Ochiltree, and that preternatural figure of old Edith Elspeith, a living shadow, in whom
Seite 74 - it is unquestionably a work of genius—of wild, irregular, overwhelming imagination, and has that rich, varied movement in the verse, which gives a distant idea of the lofty or changeful tones of Mr. Coleridge's voice. In the Christobel, there is one splendid passage on divided friendship. The Translation of Schiller's

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