The Works of Thomas Love Peacock: Poetry. Miscellanies. Four ages of poetry. Horæ dramaticæ, no. 1-3 . Shelley. Shelley letters

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Sir Henry Cole
R. Bentley and son, 1875

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Side 385 - The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.
Side 18 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls : and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place, by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook, there, its lonely head : the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers.
Side 415 - Between his old feelings towards Harriet, from whom he was not then separated, and his new passion for Mary, he showed in his looks, in his gestures, in his speech, the state of a mind "suffering, like a little kingdom, the nature of an insurrection".
Side 15 - The nations shall rush like the rushing of many waters: but God shall rebuke them, and they shall flee far off, and shall be chased as the chaff of the mountains before the wind, and like a rolling thing before the whirlwind.
Side 333 - A poet in our times is a semi-barbarian in a civilized community. He lives in the days that are past. His ideas, thoughts, feelings, associations, are all with barbarous manners, obsolete customs, and exploded superstitions. The march of his intellect is like that of a crab, backward.
Side 9 - Modern Europe has produced several illustrious women who have sustained with glory the weight of empire ; nor is our own age destitute of such distinguished characters. But if we except the doubtful achievements of Semiramis, Zenobia is perhaps the only female whose superior genius broke through the servile indolence imposed on her sex by the climate and manners of Asia.
Side 460 - Eyes of some men travel far For the finding of a star; Up and down the heavens they go, Men that keep a mighty rout! I'm as great as they, I trow, Since the day I found thee out, Little Flower!
Side 267 - I am always repeating to myself your lines from Sophocles: Man's happiest lot is not to be: And when we tread life's thorny steep, Most blest are they, who earliest free Descend to death's eternal sleep.
Side 394 - I went to Shelley's rooms : he was absent ; but before I had collected our books he rushed in. He was terribly agitated. I anxiously inquired what had happened. ' I am expelled,' he said, as soon as he had recovered himself a little.

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