This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1895 Excerpt: ...to my thoughts; nature is dead around me, as hope is within me; no object can give me one gleam of satisfaction now, nor the prospects of it in time to come. I wander by the sea-side; and the eternal ocean and lasting despair and her face are before me. Slighted by her, on whom my heart by its last fibre hung, where ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1895 Excerpt: ...to my thoughts; nature is dead around me, as hope is within me; no object can give me one gleam of satisfaction now, nor the prospects of it in time to come. I wander by the sea-side; and the eternal ocean and lasting despair and her face are before me. Slighted by her, on whom my heart by its last fibre hung, where shall I turn? I wake with her by my side, not as my sweet bed-fellow, but / as the corpse of my love, without a heart in her bosom, cold, insensible, or struggling from me; and the worm gnaws me, I and the sting of unrequited love, and the canker of a hopeless, endless sorrow. HERE is another eloquent passage--Hazlitt is still in Scotland--Do you know, you would have been delighted with the effect of the Northern twilight on this romantic country as I rode along last night. The hills and groves and herds of cattle were seen reposing in the grey dawn of midnight, as in a moonlight without shadow. The whole wide canopy of heaven shed its reflex light upon them, like a pure crystal mirror. No sharp points, no petty details, no hard contrasts--every object was seen softened yet distinct in its simple outline and natural tones, transparent with an inward light, breathing its own mild lustre. The landscape altogether was like an airy piece of mosaic-work, or like one of Poussin's broad, massy landscapes, or Titian's lovely pastoral scenes. Is it not so that poets see nature, veiled to the sight but revealed to the soul in visionary grace and grandeur! I confess the sight touched me; and might have removed all sadness except mine. So (I thought) the light of her celestial face once shone into my soul, and wrapt me in a heavenly trance. The sense I have of beauty raises me for a moment above myself, but depresses me the more afterwards when I recollect ...
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