A History of Eighteenth Century Literature (1660-1780)

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Macmillan, 1891 - Всего страниц: 415
 

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Стр. 231 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Стр. 123 - In vain ! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. For public Flame, nor private, dares to shine ; Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine ! Lo ! thy dread Empire, CHAOS ! is restor'd ; Light dies before thy uncreating word ; Thy hand, great Anarch ! lets the curtain fall. And universal Darkness buries All.
Стр. 288 - The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind ; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.
Стр. 338 - Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't • As he comes up the stair, — And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy wi...
Стр. 234 - I do not remember to have gone ten paces without an exclamation that there was no restraining; not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry.
Стр. 320 - Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will; Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
Стр. 119 - And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow ; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground, now sacred by thy reliques made.
Стр. 58 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Стр. 318 - Sweet was the sound when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There as I passed with careless steps and slow The mingling notes came softened from below. The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school...
Стр. 217 - Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; Search for peace with all your skill ; Open wide the lofty door, Seek her on the marble floor ; In vain...

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