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admiration affections argument beauty Ben Jonson Bentham breath candour casuistry character Claude Lorraine Cobbett Coleridge common common-place criticism delight Edinburgh Review eloquence equally fancy favour feeling French Revolution friends genius give Godwin grace ground habit hand heart honour House human humour idle imagination intellect interest Irving less liberty light live look Lord Byron Lord Eldon Lyrical Ballads Malthus manner means ment mind modern moral Muse nature ness never object opinion orator pain passion perhaps person philosophical poet poetical poetry political popular prejudices pretensions pride principle quaint question racter reason reform romance sense Sir Francis Burdett Sir James Sir James Mackintosh Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott sophism sort Southey speak speeches spirit spleen striking style talent thing thought tical tion tone Tooke truth turn verse voice Whigs word Wordsworth writings
Seite 146 - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Seite 137 - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
Seite 57 - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
Seite 116 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast...
Seite 106 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Seite 108 - It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.
Seite 115 - Out went the taper as she 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 uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
Seite 136 - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Seite 119 - I WISH I was where Anna lies, For I am sick of lingering here ; And every hour, affection cries, Go and partake her humble bier. I wish I could ! for when she died, I lost my all ; and life has proved, Since that sad hour, a dreary void, A waste unlovely, and unloved.