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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2
Полный просмотр - 1829
The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 3
Полный просмотр - 1830
The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 4
Полный просмотр - 1830
admiration Allan Cunningham appeared Areois beauty Billy Morgan Captain character Clovenford croak Damietta dark Edinburgh effect Egypt eyes father favour feeling genius give Glasgow Guthrum hand happy heard heart heaven Henry Constable honour hope interesting islands John king labours lady land light literary living London look Lord Lord Byron manner marriage ment mind Miss moral morning mountain nature never night º º o'er observed ºil ºut passed passion person pleasure poem poet poetry poor present racter readers remarks scarcely scene Scotland Scottish ship Sir John Sinclair ſº society song soon soul spirit stood sweet thee thing thou thought tion trees truth voice volume Waverley Novels whole words young
Стр. 252 - Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why, with the time, do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed. That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
Стр. 252 - If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: ' Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To...
Стр. 251 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Стр. 252 - So far from variation or quick change ? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth and where they did proceed ? O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument...
Стр. 161 - And the ass said unto Balaam, Am not I thine ass, upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day? Was I ever wont to do so unto thee?
Стр. 33 - I am the more confirmed in this by having lately gone over some of our classics, particularly Pope, whom I tried in this way, — I took Moore's poems and my own and some others, and went over them side by side with Pope's, and I was really astonished (I ought not to have been so) and mortified at the ineffable distance in point of sense, harmony, effect, and even Imagination, passion, and Invention, between the little Queen Anne's man, and us of the Lower Empire. Depend upon it, it is all Horace...
Стр. 16 - Fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
Стр. 128 - Of troublous and distress'd mortality, That thus make way unto the ugly birth Of their own sorrows, and do still beget Affliction upon imbecility ; Yet, seeing thus the course of things must run, He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. And whilst distraught Ambition compasses And is encompassed ; whilst as Craft deceives And is deceived ; whilst man doth ransack man, And builds on blood, and rises by distress ; And th...
Стр. 206 - And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays; The long reflections of the distant fires Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires: A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field ; Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend. Whose umber'd arms by fits thick flashes send; Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.