Jerrold, Tennyson and Macaulay: With Other Critical Essays

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Edmonston & Douglas, 1868 - 243 pages
 

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Page 205 - The primary Imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM...
Page 90 - Who loved, who suffered countless ills, Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, Or sealed within the iron hills?
Page 105 - Until they won her ; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
Page 81 - Now crescent, who will come to all I am And overcome it; and in me there dwells No greatness, save it be some far-off touch Of greatness to know well I am not great : There is the man.
Page 86 - Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, Thou art the highest and most human too, Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none Will tell the King I love him tho
Page 86 - Would not look up, or half-despised the height To which I would not or I could not climb — I thought I could not breathe in that fine air...
Page 144 - He judges of a theory, of a public measure, of a religion or a political party, of a peace or a war, as men judge of a picture or a statue, by the effect produced on his imagination. A chain of associations is to him what a chain of reasoning is to other men ; and what he calls his opinions are in fact merely his tastes.
Page 199 - In spite therefore of his own declarations, I could never believe, it was possible for him to have meant no more by his Noumenon, or THING IN ITSELF, than his mere words express...
Page 144 - Government is to Mr. Southey one of the fine arts. He judges of a theory, or a public measure, of a religion, a political party, a peace or a war, as men judge of a picture or a statue, by the effect produced on his imagination. A chain of associations is to him what a chain of reasoning is to other men ; and what he calls his opinions are in fact merely his tastes.
Page 46 - Thro' his dim water-world? Slight, to be crush'd with a tap Of my finger-nail on the sand, Small, but a work divine, Frail, but of force to withstand, Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snap The three-decker's oaken spine Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand!

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