De Gretna Green à Land's End : un voyage littéraire en Angleterre . ich Scott a écrit, Jamais sunbeam pourrait discerner la surface de ce Tarn, dans lequel le miroir noir vous pouvez épyLe ciel est éclairé par les étoiles, alors que noontide est à dix-sept pieds de profondeur. C'est tout en proportion, tout à la piciurèse, — presque en proportion trop régulière, presque taoooseusement pittoresque, comme si elle s'était retrouvée expressément pour la tripe. Il n'y a rien de sauvage primitif à ce sujet. NA-ture est ici le lion tamed, un compagnon de jeu accréditedhumain. En effet, on pense presque que la nature ici est assise pour son portrait, un art de l'auto-portrait

• Contributeur: The Reading Room / Alamy Banque D'Images
• ID de l’image: 2AN3GGP
• Taille du fichier: 7,1 MB (477,4 KB Téléchargement compressé)
• Autorisations: Modèle - non | Propriété - non
• Dimensions: 1063 x 2350 px | 18 x 39,8 cm | 7,1 x 15,7 inches | 150dpi

Informations supplémentaires

Cette image appartient au domaine public, ce qui signifie que le droit d’auteur a expiré ou que le titulaire du droit d’auteur a renoncé à ses droits. Les frais facturés par Alamy couvrent l’accès à la copie haute résolution de l’image.

Cette image peut avoir des imperfections car il s’agit d’une image historique ou de reportage.

From Gretna Green to Land's End : a literary journey in England . ich Scott wrote, Never sunbeam could discernThe surface of that sable tarn, In whose black mirror you may spyThe stars, while noontide lights the sky, is seventeen feet deep. It is all in proportion, all piciuresque, —almost in too regular proportion, almost tooconspicuously picturesque, as if it had beenexpressly gotten up for the tripper. Thereis nothing of primeval wildness about it. Na-ture is here the lion tamed, an accreditedhuman playmate. Indeed, one almost feelsthat here is Nature sitting for her portrait, a self-conscious Nature holding her court oftourists and poets. Yet this is but a fleetingand a shamefaced mood. It takes intimacyto discover the fact of reticence, and those arealiens indeed who think that a single coach-drive, even the boasted circular tour, hasacquainted them with the Lake Country, —yes, though they trudge over the passes (forit is coach etiquette to put the passengersdown whenever the road gets steep) Words-worth in hand. In truth, the great amount 44. THE LAKE COUNTRY of literary association may be to the con-scientious Laker something of a burden.Skiddaw thrusts forth his notched contourwith the insistent question: What was itWordsworth said about me? Ennerdalechurch and the Pillar Rock tax ones memoryof The Brothers, and every stone sheep-fold calls for a recitation from Michael.That cradled nursling of the mountain, the river Duddon, expects one to know byheart the thirty-four sonnets recording howthe pedestrian poet accompanied with faithful paceCaerulean Duddon from its cloud-fed spring. The footpath you follow, the rock you restupon, the yew you turn to admire, W^ishing-Gate and Stepping-Stones admonish you tobe ready with your quotation. Even the tinycascade of Rydal Water — so small as pre-sumably to be put to bed at six oclock, for itmay not be visited after that hour — has beensung by the Grasmere laureate. While yourcare-free Englishman goes clambering

Recherche dans la banque de photos par tags

• bo
• bookcentury1900
• bookdecade1900
• bookidfromgretnagreent00bate