The Virgin Widow: A Play

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Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1850 - English drama - 192 pages
 

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Page 14 - Tis a speech That by a language of familiar lowness Enhances what of more heroic vein Is next to follow. But one fault it hath ; It fits too close to life's realities. In truth to Nature missing truth to Art ; For Art commends not counterparts and copies, But from our life a nobler life would shape, Bodies celestial from terrestrial raise, And teach us not jejunely what we are, And what we may be, when the Parian block Yields to the hand of Phidias.
Page 33 - ... sisters, you have never yet* Been parted from my side beyond the breadth Of a slim sunbeam, and you never shall ; Already it is loosen'd, it is gone, — The cloud, the mist ; across the vale of life The rainbow rears its soft triumphal arch, And every roving path and brake and bower Is bathed in colourd
Page 9 - I'ma bird that's free Of the land and sea, I wander whither I will ; But oft on the wing, I falter and sing, Oh fluttering heart, be still, . Be still, Oh fluttering heart, be still. I'm wild as the wind, But soft and kind, And wander whither I may, The eye-bright sighs, And says with its eyes, Thou wandering wind, oh stay, Oh stay, Thou wandering wind, oh stay.
Page 46 - Bid her beware of spendthrifts as of men That seeming in their youth not worse than light, Would end not so, but with the season change ; For Time, she said, which makes the serious soft, Turns lightness into hardness.
Page 13 - And quiver, that the infection of the sense May make our flesh to creep ; for as the hand By tickling of our skin may make us laugh More than the wit of Plautus, so these tricks May make us shudder. But true art is this, To set aside your sorrowful pantomime, Pass by the senses, leave the flesh at rest, And working by the witcheries of words Felt in the fulness of their import, call Men's spirits from the deep ; that pain may thus Be glorified, and passion flashing out Like noiseless lightning in...
Page 77 - The last year's leaf, its time is brief Upon the beechen spray ; The green bud springs, the young bird sings Old leaf, make room for May : Begone, fly away ; Make room for May. • Oh green bud, smile on me awhile, Oh young bird, let me stay: — What joy have we, old leaf, in thee? Make room, make room for May : Begone, fly away, Make room for May.

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