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James Russell Lowell, Among my books, Wordsworth. (search)
sistent with a healthy productiveness. Here Coleridge, who had contrived to see something more in as mistaken. The contemporaneous letters of Coleridge to Cottle show that he was long in giving up which contained also The Ancient Mariner of Coleridge, attracted little notice, and that in great ely to have been derived from his talks with Coleridge in 1797. A very improbable story of ColerColeridge's in the Biographia Literania represents the two friends as having incurred a suspicion of treference to the wider view and finer sense of Coleridge), and now says of the former volume that it m naturally as to Spenser and Shelley and to Coleridge in his higher moods. Moreover, it was in thhis sister on a foot journey into Scotland. Coleridge was their companion during a part of this ex. One would think that the strange charm of Coleridge's most truly original poems lay in this verye or two of his contemporaries, notably than Coleridge or Shelley; but he was a masculine thinker, [9 more...]
James Russell Lowell, Among my books, Milton. (search)
rhyme and yet withhold it (rhyme-wraiths one might call them), that he is an artist and a master. He even sometimes introduces rhyme with misleading intervals between and unobviously in his blank-verse:— There rest, if any rest can harbour there; And, reassembling our afflicted powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire calamity, What reinforcement we may gain from hope, If not, what resolution from despair. I think Coleridge's nice ear would have blamed the nearness of enemy and calamity in this passage. Mr. Masson leaves out the comma after If not, the pause of which is needful, I think, to the sense, and certainly to keep not a little farther apart from what, (teach each!) There is one almost perfect quatrain,— Before thy fellows, ambitious to win From me some plume, that thy success may show Destruction to the rest. This pause between (Unanswered lest thou boast) to let thee know; and another hardly l
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 2 (search)
ut not in system. It seemed to me that his mind must have been moulded by some other mind, with which I ought to be acquainted, in order to know him well,—perhaps Spinoza's. Since I came home, I have been consulting Buhle's and Tennemann's histories of philosophy, and dipping into Brown, Stewart, and that class of books. After I had cast the burden of my cares upon you, I rested, and read Petrarch for a day or two. But that could not last. I had begun to take an account of stock, as Coleridge calls it, and was forced to proceed He says few persons ever did this faithfully, without being dissatisfied with the result, and lowering their estimate of their supposed riches. With me it has ended in the most humiliating sense of poverty; and only just enough pride is left to keep your poor friend off the parish. As it is, I have already asked items of several besides yourself; but, though they have all given what they had, it has by no means answered my purpose; and I have laid the
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 3 (search)
uences in some degree. I think, in reading, I shall place him next to Wordsworth. I have finished Herschel, and really believe I am a little wiser. I have read, too, Heyne's letters twice, Sartor Resartus once, some of Goethe's late diaries, Coleridge's Literary Remains, and drank a great deal from Wordsworth. By the way, do you know his Happy Warrior? I find my insight of this sublime poet perpetually deepening. Mr.—— says the Wanderjahre is wise. It must be presumed so; and yet one is introverted eye, and the almost childlike simplicity of his pathos, carry one back into a purer atmosphere, to live over again youth's fresh emotions. I greatly enjoyed his readings in Hamlet, and have reviewed in connection what Goethe and Coleridge have said. Both have successfully seized on the main points in the character of Hamlet, and Mr. D. took nearly the same range. His views of Ophelia, however, are unspeakably more just than are those of Serlo in Wilhelm Meister. I regret that
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), VI. Jamaica Plain. (search)
Pantheists, of Plato and the Alexandrians, of Plutarch's Morals, Seneca and Epictetus; in part, the natural product of the culture of the place and time. On the somewhat stunted stock of Unitarianism,—whose characteristic dogma was trust in individual reason as correlative to Supreme Wisdom,— had been grafted German Idealism, as taught by masters of most various schools,—by Kant and Jacobi, Fichte and Novalis, Schelling and Hegel, Schleiermacher and De Wette, by Madame de Stael, Cousin, Coleridge, and Carlyle; and the result was a vague yet exalting conception of the godlike nature of the human spirit. Transcendentalism, as viewed by its disciples, was a pilgrimage from the idolatrous world of creeds and rituals to the temple of the Living God in the soul. It was a putting to silence of tradition and formulas, that the Sacred Oracle might be heard through intuitions of the single-eyed and pure-hearted. Amidst materialists, zealots, and sceptics, the Transcendentalist believed in<
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 11. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), General Beauregard's report of the battle of Drury's Bluff. (search)
To whose tact, coolness and decision, the battalion owes much. His superior qualities as a commanding officer, and as a diplomat, have done much both in war and in peace to keep the battalion intact, and to preserve our esprit de corps. And with such men as Eschleman, Richardson, Hero, Bayne, Dupuy, Kursheedt, McElroy, O'Brien, Fuqua, De Russey, Holmes, Palfrey, Leverich, and our whole host of veterans, the command will not lack backers and advisors for the future. And in the words of Coleridge, when These good knights are dust, And their good swords are rust; Their souls with God, we trust, they will leave you a precious legacy, of which you should be proud. Preserve it carefully without blemish, for it is purified by the blood of brave men; and should your country need you in case of foreign war, stand manfully by your country's flag, and this your ancient device, Try us. Show the world that the courage and honor of the Washington Artillery live forever. For until our
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 11. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), The Washington Artillery. (search)
To whose tact, coolness and decision, the battalion owes much. His superior qualities as a commanding officer, and as a diplomat, have done much both in war and in peace to keep the battalion intact, and to preserve our esprit de corps. And with such men as Eschleman, Richardson, Hero, Bayne, Dupuy, Kursheedt, McElroy, O'Brien, Fuqua, De Russey, Holmes, Palfrey, Leverich, and our whole host of veterans, the command will not lack backers and advisors for the future. And in the words of Coleridge, when These good knights are dust, And their good swords are rust; Their souls with God, we trust, they will leave you a precious legacy, of which you should be proud. Preserve it carefully without blemish, for it is purified by the blood of brave men; and should your country need you in case of foreign war, stand manfully by your country's flag, and this your ancient device, Try us. Show the world that the courage and honor of the Washington Artillery live forever. For until our
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 18. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), Southern Historical Society Papers. (search)
was on him; he knew it, and he desired to die near his old home in Versailles. He was taken there, and there died on the 22d day of September, 1864, with the pathetic words upon his lips: Here I lie in a borrowed house, on a borrowed bed, and under a borrowed blanket. God pity me! Mr. Marshall was noted all over this country for the brilliancy of his wit and the quickness of his repartee. It has been said that one of the neatest retorts ever made by a public speaker was that made by Coleridge to some marks of disapprobation during his democratic lectures at Bristol: I am not at all surprised that when the red-hot prejudices of aristocrats are suddenly plunged into the cool element of reason, they should go off with a hiss. Happy as was this reply, it was surpassed in overwhelming effect by the somewhat irreverent one made by Mr. Marshall, towards the close of his life, at Buffalo, New York. He was making a speech to a crowded audience in that city when he was interrupted by a
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 34. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.38 (search)
, one of the large family of that name in Halifax and Charlotte counties. Her sister, Ellen, another famous belle of the Old Dominion in the palmy days, was married to James M. Morson, and lived on the adjoining plantation, Dover, one of the most aristocratic homesteads in Virginia. Many of Richmond's inner circle enjoyed the famous social gatherings here, where the society was as delightful as that which adorned the literary circles of the British metropolis in the golden age of Scott, Coleridge, Moore, and Leigh Hunt. Mr. Morson and his brother-in-law, Mr. Seddon, each owned several sugar plantations in Louisiana, besides cotton lands in Mississippi. Just half a mile distant was another typical old Virginia residence, Eastwood, owned by Mr. Plumer Hobson, whose wife was the accomplished daughter of Governor Henry A. Wise. Eastwood was one of the most delightful homes imaginable and the abode of refinement and hospitality. Mr. Hobson paid $2,500 for Tom, one of the most cour
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Tales and Sketches (search)
subject, he considered it, on the whole, a happy circumstance. But, for my own part, I cannot say with the Mariner in Coleridge's ballad, that At an uncertain hour My agony returns; And, till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. herself, pouring forth the soft current of its exquisite cadence, which alone absorbed the attention. Like that one of Coleridge's heroines, you could half feel, half fancy, that it had a separate being of its own, a spiritual presence manifested ts and dusty avenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought to the vale of Chamouny, and seen, with Coleridge, the morning star pausing on the bald, awful head of sovereign Blanc, and the sun rise and set upon snowy-crested mountcoincide with their taste, nor the other with their narrow notions of personal convenience. In one of his early poems, Coleridge has well expressed a truth, which is not the less important because it is not generally admitted. The idea is briefly
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