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Страница 344 - Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; There forests of no meaning spread the page, In which all comprehension wanders lost ; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks, And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald...
Страница 273 - His was the spell o'er hearts Which only acting lends, The youngest of the sister arts, Where all their beauty blends : For ill can Poetry express Full many a tone of thought sublime, And Painting, mute and motionless, Steals but a glance of Time. But by the mighty actor brought, Illusion's perfect triumphs come ; Verse ceases to be airy thought, And Sculpture to be dumb.
Страница 354 - And strangers took the kinsman's place At many a joyous board ; Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Were left to Heaven's bright rain, Fresh hopes were born for other years — — He never smiled again ! CŒUR-DE-LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER.
Страница 146 - I can always answer, because I always know whence they have their arguments, which I have read a hundred times ; but that fellow Young is continually pestering me with something of his own."* After all, Tindal and the censurers of Young may be reconcilable.
Страница 344 - Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured ear. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced To some secure and more than mortal height, That liberates and exempts me from them all. It turns submitted to my view, turns round With all its generations ; I behold The tumult and am still. The sound of war Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride And...
Страница 345 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, ' Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Страница 397 - To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage...
Страница 272 - All perishable ! like the electric fire, But strike the frame, and, as they strike, expire ; Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear, Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air.
Страница 344 - Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat. To peep at such a world ; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear.