The Life, Letters and Table Talk of Benjamin Robert Haydon

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Scribner, Armstrong and Company, 1876 - 311 Seiten

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Seite xvii - My spirit is too weak — Mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Seite 170 - GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning ; He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing : He of the rose, the violet, the spring, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake : And lo!
Seite 183 - I see by little and little more of what is to be done, and how it is to be done, should I ever be able to do it.
Seite 170 - He of the rose, the violet, the spring, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake : And lo ! whose steadfastness would never take A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come ; These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings ? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.
Seite xix - High is our calling, Friend ! — Creative art (Whether the instrument of words she use, Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues) Demands the service of a mind and heart, Though sensitive, yet in their weakest part Heroically fashioned — to infuse Faith in the whispers of the lonely muse, While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
Seite 237 - I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.
Seite 273 - A' made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child ; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers...
Seite 173 - My Ideas with respect to it I assure you are very low — and I would write the subject thoroughly again — but I am tired of it and think the time would be better spent in writing a new Romance which I have in my eye for next summer...
Seite 180 - The innumerable compositions and decompositions which take place between the intellect and its thousand materials before it arrives at that trembling delicate, and snail-horn perception of beauty...
Seite 218 - My indignation at Mr. Keats's depreciation of Pope has hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius, which, malgre all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly of great promise. His fragment of ' Hyperion ' seems actually inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as ^Eschylus.

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