Specimens of the British Poets: Churchill, 1764, to Johnson, 1784Thomas Campbell John Murray, 1819 |
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Страница 13
... thee there . His words bore sterling weight , nervous and strong In manly tides of sense they roll'd along . Happy in art , he chiefly had pretence To keep up numbers , yet not forfeit sense . No actor ever greater heights could reach ...
... thee there . His words bore sterling weight , nervous and strong In manly tides of sense they roll'd along . Happy in art , he chiefly had pretence To keep up numbers , yet not forfeit sense . No actor ever greater heights could reach ...
Страница 17
... thee . Now might I tell , how silence reign'd throughout , And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout ! How ev'ry claimant , tortur'd with desire , Was pale as ashes , or as red as fire : VOL . V. But , loose to fame , the Muse more ...
... thee . Now might I tell , how silence reign'd throughout , And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout ! How ev'ry claimant , tortur'd with desire , Was pale as ashes , or as red as fire : VOL . V. But , loose to fame , the Muse more ...
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... thee for a silly swain : Of things past help , what boots it to complain ? Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite ; No sky is heavy , if the heart be light : Patience is sorrow's salve ; what can't be cur'd , So Donald right ...
... thee for a silly swain : Of things past help , what boots it to complain ? Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite ; No sky is heavy , if the heart be light : Patience is sorrow's salve ; what can't be cur'd , So Donald right ...
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... thee , William , of thy fault , Thy pledge and broken oath ! And give me back my maiden - vow , And give me back my troth . 66 Why did you promise love to me , And not that promise keep ? Why did you swear my eyes were bright , Yet ...
... thee , William , of thy fault , Thy pledge and broken oath ! And give me back my maiden - vow , And give me back my troth . 66 Why did you promise love to me , And not that promise keep ? Why did you swear my eyes were bright , Yet ...
Страница 46
... have probably a very " Nor think this sentence is severe on thee , " Satan , thy master , I dare call a dunce . " Concluding lines of Night 8th . distinct conception , but unless that species of land- scape 46 EDWARD YOUNG .
... have probably a very " Nor think this sentence is severe on thee , " Satan , thy master , I dare call a dunce . " Concluding lines of Night 8th . distinct conception , but unless that species of land- scape 46 EDWARD YOUNG .
Чести термини и фразе
ANTISTROPHE beauty behold beneath blest bliss bloom BORN bosom brave breast breath charms dear death delight dreadful dydd e'er earth eternal Eulogius ev'ry fair fame fancy fate fear form'd frae FRANCIS FAWKES genius GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS grief hand hear heart Heaven honour hour JAMES GRAINGER kynge labour Lord mild ale mind MONODY mournful nature nature's night Night Thoughts numbers o'er pain pale Palemon passions PAUL WHITEHEAD peace plain pleasure poem poet poetical poetry poor pow'r praise pride rage reign RICHARD JAGO rise Rodmond round scene Selim shade shore skies sleep smile soft song soul spread swain sweet Syr Charles taste taught tears tender Thatt thee Thenne thine THOMAS CHATTERTON thou thought toil train trembling university of Edinburgh vale verse virtue wave wealth wild wings wretch wyfe wylle Wyth ynne youth
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Страница 280 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Страница 281 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Страница 278 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain: 40 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way.
Страница 286 - Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Страница 285 - Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art : Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
Страница 189 - Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare ; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Страница 288 - And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Страница 284 - A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Страница 282 - His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid...
Страница 186 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...