What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
answer appears beautiful believe blood boat Canto cause character child death died Don Juan doubt English eyes face fact fair father feel friends genius give half hand head heart heaven honour hope hour human Italy Julia kind knew known lady land late least leave less letter light lines living look Lord Byron matter mean mind moral mother nature never o'er observations once opinion passages passion perhaps person poem poet poetry praise present reader reason respect rest Review scarce ship sort soul Southey speak spirit style supposed sure sweet tears tell thing thought true truth turn verse virtue wave whole wife wine wish Wordsworth write written young
Page 223 - And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Page 93 - But ye were dead To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile; so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied. Easy was the task: A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy.
Page 90 - Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies ; His wit all see-saw between that and this, Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, And he himself one vile antithesis.
Page 323 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Page 331 - Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.
Page 319 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships by thousands lay below, And men in nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set, where were they?
Page 318 - The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! "Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 278 - They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust, Is always so to women; one sole bond Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage — and what rests beyond? A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over.
Page 329 - tis the hour of prayer ! Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair ! Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove — What though 'tis but a pictured image strike, That painting is no idol, — 'tis too like.