Percy Bysshe Shelley, an Appreciation...

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Privately Printed, 1903 - 74 pàgines
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Pàgina 53 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form. A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Pàgina 48 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan? doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
Pàgina 27 - I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep ; a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why; until there rose From the near school-room, voices, that, alas ! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
Pàgina 25 - Here is a man at Keswick, who acts upon me as my own ghost would do. He is just what I was in 1794.
Pàgina 71 - Proposals for an Association of those Philanthropists, who convinced of the inadequacy of the moral and political state of Ireland to produce benefits which are nevertheless attainable are willing to unite to accomplish its regeneration.
Pàgina 28 - From the near school-room, voices, that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. And then I clasped my hands and looked around, But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground — So without shame, I spake : — " I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannise Without reproach or check.
Pàgina 49 - Thou think'st we will live through thee, one by one, Like animal life ; and, though we can obscure not The soul which burns within, that we will dwell Beside...
Pàgina 29 - I love thee, Baby ! for thine own sweet sake : Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, Thy tender frame so eloquently weak, Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake ; But more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, Whilst love and pity in her glances blending. All that thy passive eyes can feel impart...

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