English bards, and Scotch reviewers: a satire |
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Стр. 5
... Author succeeds in merely « brui- sing one of the heads of the serpent , » though his own hand should suffer in the encounter , he will be amply satisfied . t ENGLISH BARDS , AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS . STILL must PREFACE . 5.
... Author succeeds in merely « brui- sing one of the heads of the serpent , » though his own hand should suffer in the encounter , he will be amply satisfied . t ENGLISH BARDS , AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS . STILL must PREFACE . 5.
Стр. 9
... hand . Still there are follies e'en for me to chace , And yield at least amusement in the race : Laugh when I laugh , I seek no other fame , The cry is up , and Scribblers are my game : Speed , Pegasus ! —ye strains of great and small ...
... hand . Still there are follies e'en for me to chace , And yield at least amusement in the race : Laugh when I laugh , I seek no other fame , The cry is up , and Scribblers are my game : Speed , Pegasus ! —ye strains of great and small ...
Стр. 29
... hand disturb their early sleep * ! Yet , say ! why should the Bard , at once , resign His claim to favour from the sacred Nine ? For ever startled by the mingled howl Of Northern wolves that still in darkness prowl : A coward brood ...
... hand disturb their early sleep * ! Yet , say ! why should the Bard , at once , resign His claim to favour from the sacred Nine ? For ever startled by the mingled howl Of Northern wolves that still in darkness prowl : A coward brood ...
Стр. 30
... hand less mighty , but with heart as black , With voice as willing to decree the rack ; Bred in the Courts betimes , though all that law As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw . Since well instructed in the patriot school To rail at ...
... hand less mighty , but with heart as black , With voice as willing to decree the rack ; Bred in the Courts betimes , though all that law As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw . Since well instructed in the patriot school To rail at ...
Стр. 38
... hands applaud , a venal few ! Rather than sleep , why John applauds it too , Such are we now , ah ! wherefore should we turn 591 To what our fathers where , unless to mourn ? Degenerate Britons ! are ye dead to shame , Or , kind to ...
... hands applaud , a venal few ! Rather than sleep , why John applauds it too , Such are we now , ah ! wherefore should we turn 591 To what our fathers where , unless to mourn ? Degenerate Britons ! are ye dead to shame , Or , kind to ...
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ARTHUR'S seat Bard beauties Behold blest boast BOWLES BOWLES's Caledonia's CAMOENS CAPEL LOFFT CARLISLE CATULLUS Condemned COTTLE Critics daily prints damned dare display dull Dunciad E'en Edinburgh Review ENGLISH BARDS Epic fame feel follies fools genius GIFFORD HAFIZ hail HALLAM hallowed hath heroes HOLLAND's honour hope inspiration JEFFREY JEFFREY'S Joan of Arc Juvenal labour LAMB LITTLE'S Lord Lord CARLISLE Lord Fanny Lordship lyre Lyrical Ballads mighty mind Minstrel Muse night numbers o'er once perchance pistol Pixies poem Poesy Poet's poetry POPE praise Prince prose published resign rhyme Satire Satirist scenes SCOTCH REVIEWERS scrawl scribbler SKEFFINGTON sleep Sleeping Beauties song Sonnets sons soul SOUTHEY SOUTHEY's spare Spirit spurn Stanza STOTT strain STRANGFORD taste Thalaba themes thine thing thou throng thy muse thy pen Tolbooth traduce Triumphs Tweed verse William of Deloraine worthy write yield
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Стр. 51 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel „ While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Стр. 1 - Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers ; I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Стр. 50 - Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge, in October, 1806, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret, that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume.
Стр. 16 - Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; A mighty mixture of the great and base.
Стр. 16 - ... line ? No ! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : Still...
Стр. 9 - Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.
Стр. 10 - A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit ; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Стр. 50 - UNHAPPY White !* while life was in its spring, And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When science...
Стр. 19 - Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double : Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?
Стр. 11 - twill pass for wit; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment? no— as soon Seek roses in December— ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.