Literary Rambles in the West of England

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Chatto & Windus, 1906 - Authors, English - 339 pages

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Page 108 - Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind : His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
Page 57 - Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair and learn'd and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Page 249 - That summer, under whose indulgent skies, Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart, Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man, The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes Didst utter of the Lady Christabel...
Page 243 - WHEN on my bed the moonlight falls, I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls; Thy marble bright in dark appears, As slowly steals a silver flame Along the letters of thy name, And o'er the number of thy years.
Page 320 - Take, holy earth ! all that my soul holds dear : Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave : To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form : she bow'd to taste the wave And died.
Page 80 - OF manners gentle, of affections mild; In wit, a man; simplicity, a child: With native humour tempering virtuous rage, Form'd to delight at once and lash the age: Above temptation in a low estate, And uncorrupted, ev'n among the great: A safe companion, and an easy friend, Unblamed through life, lamented in thy end.
Page 114 - Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate: Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat.
Page 271 - Causeway. A thunderstorm came on while we were at the inn, and Coleridge was running out bare-headed to enjoy the commotion of the elements in the Valley of Rocks, but as if in spite, the clouds only muttered a few angry sounds, and let fall a few refreshing drops. Coleridge told me that he and Wordsworth were to have made this place the scene of a prose-tale, which was to have been in the manner of, but far superior to, the Death of Abel, but they had relinquished the design.
Page 138 - Weather — by the by you may say what you will of devonshire : the truth is, it is a splashy, rainy, misty, snowy, foggy, haily, floody, \ muddy, slipshod County— the hills are very beautiful, ) when you get a sight of 'em — the Primroses are out, but / then you are in — the Cliffs are of a fine deep Colour, — but then the Clouds are continually vicing with them.
Page 256 - And now, beloved Stowey! I behold Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend; And close behind them, hidden from my view, Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe And my babe's mother dwell in peace!

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