English bards, and Scotch reviewers: a satire |
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Стр. 21
... kind . » Oh ! wonder - working LEWIS ! Monk , or Bard , Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church - yard ! Lo ! Wreaths of yew , not laurel , bind thy brow , Thy Muse a Sprite , Apollo's sexton thou ! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st ...
... kind . » Oh ! wonder - working LEWIS ! Monk , or Bard , Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church - yard ! Lo ! Wreaths of yew , not laurel , bind thy brow , Thy Muse a Sprite , Apollo's sexton thou ! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st ...
Стр. 22
... kind to youth , this expiation o'er , She bids thee , » mend thy line and sin no more . » For thee , translator of the tinsel song , To whom such glittering ornaments belong , Hibernian STRANGFORD ! with thine eyes of blue * , And ...
... kind to youth , this expiation o'er , She bids thee , » mend thy line and sin no more . » For thee , translator of the tinsel song , To whom such glittering ornaments belong , Hibernian STRANGFORD ! with thine eyes of blue * , And ...
Стр. 37
... kind indeed ? And BEAUMONT's pilfered Caratach affords A tragedy complete in all but words * ? Who but must mourn , while these are all the rage , The degradation of our vaunted stage ? Heavens ! is all sense of shame , and talent gone ...
... kind indeed ? And BEAUMONT's pilfered Caratach affords A tragedy complete in all but words * ? Who but must mourn , while these are all the rage , The degradation of our vaunted stage ? Heavens ! is all sense of shame , and talent gone ...
Стр. 38
... kind to dullness , do you fear to blame ? Well may the nobles of our present race Watch each distortion of a NALDI's face ; - Mr. GREENWOOD is , we believe , Scene - Painter to Drury Lane Theatre - as such Mr. S. is much indebted to him ...
... kind to dullness , do you fear to blame ? Well may the nobles of our present race Watch each distortion of a NALDI's face ; - Mr. GREENWOOD is , we believe , Scene - Painter to Drury Lane Theatre - as such Mr. S. is much indebted to him ...
Стр. 43
... kind , censorious friend will say , << What art thou better , meddling fool , than they ? And every Brother Rake will smile to see That Miracle , a Moralist in me . No matter when some Bard in virtue strong , GIFFORD perchance , shall ...
... kind , censorious friend will say , << What art thou better , meddling fool , than they ? And every Brother Rake will smile to see That Miracle , a Moralist in me . No matter when some Bard in virtue strong , GIFFORD perchance , shall ...
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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.