Titel: Hints and questions for the use of candidates, lower instruction English
Auteur: Hoog, W. de
Uitgave: Dordrecht: J.P. Revers, 1890 *
Auteursrechten: Zie auteursrechten
Citeerinstructie: Bijzondere Collecties van de Universiteit van Amsterdam, UBM: Obr. 4878
Onderwerp: Taal- en letterkunde naar afzonderlijke talen: Engelse taalkunde
Trefwoord: Engels, Leermiddelen (vorm)
* jaar van uitgave niet op de gebruikelijke wijze verkregen, mogelijk betreft het een schatting
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   Hints and questions for the use of candidates, lower instruction English
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love had not passed the golden portal where Heaven ceases and
Earth begins. Everything for them was the poetry, the vagueness,
the refinement,—not the power, the concentration, the mortality,—
of desire! The look—the whisper—the brief pressure of the
hand,—at most, the first kisses of love, rare and few,—these marked
the human limits of that sentiment which filled them with a new
life, which elevated them as with a new soul.
The roving tendencies of Adrian were at once fixed and centred ;
the dreams of his tender mistress had awakenend to a life dreaming
still, but „ rounded with a truth." All that earnestness and energy,
and fervour of emotion, which, in her brother, broke forth in the
schemes of patriotism and the aspirations of power, were in Irene,
softened down into one object of existence, one concentration of
soul,—and that was love. Yet, in this range of thought and action,
so apparently limited, there was, in reality, no less boundless a sphere
than in the wide space of her brother's many-pathed ambition. Not
the less had she the power and scope for all the loftiest capacities
granted to our clay. Equal was her enthusiasm for her idol; equal,
had she been equally tried, would have been her generosity, her
devotion—greater, be sure, her courage ; more inalienable her wor-
ship ; more unsullied by selfish purposes and sordid views. Time,
change, misfortune, ingratitude would have left her the same!
What State could fall, what liberty decay, if the zeal of man's noisy
patriotism were as pure as the silent loyalty of a woman's love ?
In them everything was young!—the heart unchilled, unblighted,
—that fulness and luxuriance of life's life which has in it something
of divine. At that age, when it seems as if we could never die, how
deathless, how flushed and mighty as with the youngness of a god,
is all that our hearts create ! Our own youth is like that of the
earth itself, when it peopled the woods and waters with divinities ;
when life ran riot, and yet only gave birth to beauty;—all its shapes
of poetry,—all its airs, the melodies of Arcady and Olympus ! The
Golden Age never leaves the world; it exists still, and shall exist,
till love, health, poetry, are no more; but only for the young!
If I now dwell, though, but for a moment, on this interlude in a
drama calling forth more masculine passions 'than that of love, it is
because I foresee that the occasion will but I'arely occur. If I linger