Critical Miscellanies

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Macmillan and Company, Limited, 1923 - 424 pages
 

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Page 138 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, •To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll!
Page 200 - The Church-yard abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo.
Page 201 - I trust is their destiny, to console the afflicted, to add sunshine to daylight by making the happy happier, to teach the young and the gracious of every age, to see, to think and feel, and therefore to become more actively and securely virtuous...
Page 186 - tis the sense Of majesty, and beauty, and repose, A blended holiness of earth and sky, Something that makes this individual spot. This small abiding-place of many men, A termination, and a last retreat, A centre, come from wheresoe'er you will, A whole without dependence or defect. Made for itself, and happy in itself. Perfect contentment, Unity entire.
Page 289 - My function is that of the aesthetic, not the doctrinal teacher, — the rousing of the nobler emotions, which make mankind desire the social right, not the prescribing of special measures, concerning which the artistic mind, however strongly moved by social sympathy, is often not the best judge.
Page 208 - We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.
Page 204 - Poetry as the record of the best and happiest moments of the best and happiest minds.
Page 173 - The mind which is immortal makes itself Requital for its good or evil thoughts, Is its own origin of ill and end, And its own place and time...
Page 172 - twere, anew, the gaps of centuries; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!— The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.— 'Twas such a night!
Page 49 - I will write it — that there is one topic peremptorily forbidden to all well-bred, to all rational mortals, namely, their distempers. If you have not slept, or if you have slept, or if you have headache, or sciatica, or leprosy, or thunder-stroke, I beseech you by all angels to hold your peace and not pollute the morning, to which all the housemates bring serene and pleasant thoughts, by corruption and groans.

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