Washington IrvingSheldon, 1879 - 230 strani |
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admiration afterwards Alhambra American Andalusia April arrived beautiful became biography Bracebridge Hall Brevoort brother Peter Bryant Byron called character Charles Brockden Brown charming Columbus companion court critic delight dinner dollars Dutch edition engaged England English Europe Everett eyes favor feeling fond genius gentleman Goldsmith Granada guineas heart Hoffman honor humor interest Irving's John journey July Knickerbocker labors lady legation letter literary literature London Lord Byron Madrid manuscript ment mind minister Moore Murray nephew never Newstead Abbey North-American Review occupied once palace Paris passed pleasure political Prescott published received reply residence Rip Van Winkle romantic royal Salmagundi says scenes Scott secretary seems Seville Sketch-Book sketches soon Spain Spanish spirit story style Sunnyside thought thousand thousand guineas tion volume voyage Washington Irving William William Cullen Bryant Wolfert Acker writing written wrote York young
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Stran 188 - Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of time, and preferred making friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into great favor.
Stran 17 - The next Augustan age will dawn on the other side of the Atlantic. There will, perhaps, be a Thucydides at Boston, a Xenophon at New York, and, in time, a Virgil at Mexico, and a Newton at Peru. At last, some curious traveller from Lima will visit England and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of Balbec and Palmyra...
Stran 137 - If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.
Stran 170 - I caught myself bounding up-stairs three steps at a time, to the astonishment of the porter, and checked myself, recollecting that it was not the pace befitting a Minister, and a man of my years.
Stran 150 - I shall certainly break down,' he repeated over and over again. At last the moment arrived. Mr. Irving rose, and was received with deafening and long-continued applause, which by no means lessened his apprehension. He began in his pleasant voice ; got through two or three sentences pretty easily, but in the next hesitated ; and, after one or two attempts to go on, gave it up, with a graceful allusion to the tournament, and the troop of knights all armed and eager for the fray ; and ended with the...
Stran 210 - While I was reading one of the most touching portions of that mournful piece, I observed that Byron wept. He turned his eyes upon me, and said, 'You see me weep, sir. Irving himself never wrote that story without weeping ; nor can I' hear it without tears. I have not wept much in this world, for trouble never brings tears to my eyes, but I always have tears for the "Broken Heart.
Stran 76 - I have preferred addressing myself to the feeling and fancy of the reader, more than to his judgment. My writings, therefore, may appear light and trifling in our country of philosophers and politicians ; but if they possess merit in the class of literature to which they belong, it is all to which I aspire in the work.
Stran 104 - ... everything is in the tender bud, the young leaf, or the half-open flower. The beauty of the season is but half developed, so that while there is enough to yield present delight, there is the flattering promise of still further enjoyment. Good heavens! after passing two years amidst the sunburnt wastes of Castile, to be let loose to rove at large over this fragrant and lovely land!
Stran 190 - He came down stairs, and walked through the hall into the back-parlor, with a firm and lively step that might well have made one doubt whether he had truly attained his seventy-seventh year. He was suffering from asthma, and was muffled against the damp air with a Scotch shawl, wrapped like a great loose...
Stran 25 - I LOVE the old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenser's golden days, Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. Yet, vainly in my quiet hours To breathe their marvellous notes I try ; I feel them, as the leaves and flowers In silence feel the dewy showers, And drink with glad still lips the blessing of the sky.