English bards, and Scotch reviewers: a satire |
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Стр. 29
... native field ? Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat , 420 43 . Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to ARTHUR's seat † ? Health to immortal JEFFREY ! once , in name , England could boast a judge almost the same : In soul so like , so ...
... native field ? Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat , 420 43 . Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to ARTHUR's seat † ? Health to immortal JEFFREY ! once , in name , England could boast a judge almost the same : In soul so like , so ...
Стр. 45
... native lead , Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; With you I war not : GIFFORD's heavy hand Has crushed , without remorse , your numerous band . On , « all the Talents » vent your venal spleen , Want your defence , let Pity be ...
... native lead , Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; With you I war not : GIFFORD's heavy hand Has crushed , without remorse , your numerous band . On , « all the Talents » vent your venal spleen , Want your defence , let Pity be ...
Стр. 52
... native tongue ; Now let those minds that nobly could transfuse The glorious Spirit of the Grecian Muse , 859 860 Bro * Mr. WRIGHT late Consul - General for the Seven Islands , is author of a very beautiful poem just published : it is ...
... native tongue ; Now let those minds that nobly could transfuse The glorious Spirit of the Grecian Muse , 859 860 Bro * Mr. WRIGHT late Consul - General for the Seven Islands , is author of a very beautiful poem just published : it is ...
Стр. 53
... native brass ; While all his train of hovering sylphs around , Evaporate in similies and sound : Him let them shun , with him let tinsel die ; False glare attracts , but more offends the eye * Yet let them not to vulgar WORDSWORTH Stoop ...
... native brass ; While all his train of hovering sylphs around , Evaporate in similies and sound : Him let them shun , with him let tinsel die ; False glare attracts , but more offends the eye * Yet let them not to vulgar WORDSWORTH Stoop ...
Стр. 54
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) The native genius with their feeling given Will point the path , and peal their notes to heaven , And thou , too , SCOTT ! resign to minstrels rude The wilder Slogan of a Border feud : Let others spin ...
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) The native genius with their feeling given Will point the path , and peal their notes to heaven , And thou , too , SCOTT ! resign to minstrels rude The wilder Slogan of a Border feud : Let others spin ...
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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.