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admiration afterwards amidst ancient antiquity appearance ballad beauty Ben Jonson Born century certainly character Chaucer church circumstances comedy court Cowper Creusa death Died drama Dryden Earl eclogues Edinburgh edition England English English poetry entitled exhibits expression fancy father feeling fiction Fletcher French gave genius Gorboduc Henry honour humour imagination imitation interest Jonson Joseph Warton King Lady language Layamon letters literary lived London Lord manners married Milton mind Mirror for Magistrates moral Muse native nature Oxford passage passion pastoral period pieces poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope probably prose published Queen racter reign returned rhyme Robert of Gloucester romance satire Saxon says scene Scotland Scottish seems Shakspeare Shakspeare's Sir Philip Sydney Spenser spirit story style supposed Surrey taste Thomas Thomas Warton thought tion tragedy translation verse Warton William writer written wrote Xuthus
Стр. 109 - He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views, At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Стр. 64 - See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.
Стр. 94 - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former.
Стр. 112 - But clear and artless pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread ! The Man of Ross...
Стр. 110 - Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner ; and all quality. Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And O, you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! lago.
Стр. 379 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Стр. 113 - All things are hush'd as Nature's self lay dead, The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head : The little birds in dreams their songs repeat, And sleeping flowers beneath the night dews sweat. Even lust and envy sleep...
Стр. 110 - Idalia's velvet-green has something of cant. An epithet or metaphor drawn from Nature ennobles Art; an epithet or metaphor drawn from Art degrades Nature.
Стр. 314 - His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to luxury allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Стр. 112 - What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, The mole's dim curtain and the lynx's beam ! Of smell, the headlong lioness between And hound sagacious on the tainted green ! Of hearing, from the life that fills' the flood To that which warbles through the vernal wood ! The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine ! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line...