[Commonplace books: Thomas Farnaby, 17th-century]
...let us stand by him, when, with rough strength, and hurried stroke, he smites an uncouth animation out of the rocks which he has torn among the moss of the moorland, and heaves into the darkened air the pile of iron buttresses and rugged wall, instinct with work of an imagination as wild and wayward as the northern sea; creatures of ungainly shape and rigid limb, but full of wolfish life, and changeful as the clouds that shade them. There is, I repeat, no reproach in this, but all dignity and honourableness: and we should err grievously in refusing either to recognize as an essential character of the existing architecture of the North, or to admit as a desirable character in that which it yet may be, this wildness of thought, and roughness of work; this look of mountain brotherhood between the cathedral and the Alp; this magnificence of sturdy power, put forth only the more energetically because the fine finger-touch was chilled away by the frosty wind, and the eye dimmed by the moor-mist, or blinded by the hail; this out-speaking of the strong spirit of men who may not gather redundant fruitage from the earth, nor bask in dreamy benignity of sunshine, but must break the rock for bread, and cleave the forest for fire, and show, even in what they did for delight, some of the hard habits of the arm and heart that grew on them as they swung the axe or pressed the plough.
Posted by stronzo on 06.29.2008
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