Word: lilted
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Aside from a little difficulty in catching on to the rhythmic lilt and the brogue of the dialogue, easily anticipated by reading the play in question, the factor which may evoke difficulty is the seeming lack of patriotism, shown by their absence, of Boston's political corps. Incidentally, seeing a performance or so of the Abbey players is a fine way of attaining atmosphere for that examination in Comparative Literature...
...eats what he likes until three hours before a meet when he gobbles steak, tea, custard. Calm, almost lethargic, Eastman's style of running is in character. He contradicts the Indian maxim which says: "White man, body make legs go; red man, legs make body go." His shoulders lilt with his stride but his body does not move and strain, his glasses never wobble on his nose. As Indians are supposed to do, he toes in slightly and, unlike most fast runners, tracks in an absolutely straight line. Eastman lost none of his prestige by losing one race last...
...enthusiastic, broke its rule, stayed almost to a dowager until the final curtain. Soprano Maria Jeritza (Boccaccio) was the magnet for most. She was radiantly fair, displayed calves beyond the dreams of most opera singers. One waltz, compiled by Conductor Artur Bodanzky from Suppe themes, she sang with such lilt that it stopped the show, set many to wishing that she would do in the U. S. some of the light-opera roles for which she is famed in Vienna, that the Metropolitan would unbend more often...
...Heroine is despondent. She sits at the window of her drab abode, contemplating suicide. The organ of the cinema house plays Tchaikovsky's Pathétique or something equally lugubrious and appropriate. But, hark! A knock on the door! The organist changes quickly into some gay lilt by Mendelssohn. It is the Hero, or a telegram from him, just in time. The Heroine does not leap to her death. Everything ends happily-in the movies. Now that the "talkies" have come, you can actually hear that situation-saving knock on the door. And nowadays the organ music...
...than Irish literature. But anyone who recalls the longing of Poet William Butler Yeats for "the bee-loud glade" or the poignant desolation of Novelist George Moore's The Unfilled Field, or any of the more familiar expressions of Celtic lyricism and melancholia, will easily imagine the similar lilt and dolour of Irish painting. Thus when an exhibition of contemporary Irish art opened, last week, at the Helen Hackett Galleries in Manhattan, few were surprised at the nature of the paintings.* Irishmen like Paul Henry see landscapes of mist-laden perfection and paint them so. Irishmen like famed poet...