. L'Inghilterra di Shakespeare, dove LadyDedlock andò a morire. A piedi in Bow Street, ora, – potrebbe non essere quello di incontrare le sfumature di Waller andWycherley e Betterton, che vi abitavano e morivano; toghave un saluto dal Barry tonalità argento; o tosee, in pizzo e volant, La figura di stalwart andflushed e roystring il volto di Henry Fielding.Very quiet ora sono quelle camere di pietra grim in theterrible Torre di Londra, dove tante lacrime havefalled e tanti cuori nobili sono stati divisi con dolore.does Brackenbury ancora inginocchiato nel freddo, solitario, vacante XXII UN MUTUATARIO DELLA COSCIA

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. Shakespeare's England . ehind it, where LadyDedlock went to die. To walk in Bow Street now, —might it not be to meet the shades of Waller andWycherley and Betterton, who lived and died there; tohave a greeting from the silver-tongued Barry ; or tosee, in draggled lace and ruffles, the stalwart figure andflushed and roystering countenance of Henry Fielding.Very quiet now are those grim stone chambers in theterrible Tower of London, where so many tears havefallen and so many noble hearts been split with sorrow.Does Brackenbury still kneel in the cold, lonely, vacant XXII A BORROWER OF THE NIGHT 253 chapel of St. John; or the sad ghost of Monmouthhover in the chancel of St. Peters.? How sweet tOnight would be the rustle of the ivy on the dark wall?of Hadley church, where late I breathed the rose-scentedair and heard the warbling thrush, and blessed, witha grateful heart, the loving kindness that makes suchbeauty in the world!Out there on the hill-side of Highgate, pop-ulous with death, the starlight gleams on. many a ponderoustomb and the whitemarble of many asculptured statue, where dear and fa-mous names will lurethe travellers foot-steps for years tocome. There Lynd-hurst rests, in honourand peace, and thereis hushed the tunefulvoice of Dempster—- never to be heard any more, either when snows areflying or when green leaves come again. Not manydays have passed since I stood there, by the humblegravestone of poor Charles Harcourt, that fine actor, and remembered all the gentle enthusiasm with which(1877) he spoke to me of the character of Jaques —which he loved — and how well he repeated the im-mortal lines upon the drama of human life. For him The Castle Ini, 254 SHAKESPEARES ENGLAND chap, xxii the strange, eventful history came early and sud-denly to. an end. In that ground, too, I saw the sculp-tured medallion of the well-beloved George Honey —all his frolics oer and nothing left but this. Manya golden moment did we have, old friend, and by methou art not

Parole chiave associate all'immagine

• bookcentury1800
• bookdecade1890
• bookidshakespeares
• bookyear1895