The Harp of Erin: Containing the Poetical Works, Volumen2

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Richard Phillips, 1807
 

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Página 7 - He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew : Destroy his fib, or sophistry, in vain, The creature 's at his dirty work again, Thron'd in the centre of his thin designs, Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines ! Whom have I hurt ? has poet yet, or peer, Lost the arch'd eye-brow, or Parnassian sneer?
Página 251 - ... lone retreat! Yes, though I not affect the immortal lay, Nor bold effusions of the learned quill, Nor often have I wound my tedious way Up the steep summit of the muse's hill; Yet, sometimes have I poured the incondite lay, And sometimes have I felt the rapturous thrill. Him, therefore, whom, even once, the sacred muse Has blest, shall be to feeling ever dear; And, soft as sweet, sad April's gleamy dews, On my cold clay shall fall the genial tear; While, pensive as the springing herb he views,...
Página 251 - BURIAL-PLACE. Ah me! and must I like the tenant lie Of this dark cell, all hushed the witching song; And will not feeling bend his streaming eye On my green sod, as slow he wends along, And, smiting his rapt bosom, softly sigh, " His genius soared above the vulgar throng!
Página 251 - ... fence my weedless turf around, Sacred from dull-eyed Folly's vagrant feet ; And there, soft swelling in aerial sound, Will he not list, .at eve, to voices sweet ; Strew with the spring's first flowers the little mound, And often muse within the lone retreat ? Yes, though I not affect the immortal lay, Nor bold effusions of the learned quill, Nor often have I wound my tedious way Up the steep summit of the muse's hill ; Yet, sometimes have I poured the incondite lay, And sometimes have I felt...
Página 23 - In rush'd the bulk of Peter. — Muse benign, Still louder swell that penny-trump of thine ; For ne'er did tilt of prowess'd Charlemagne, Or craz'd Orlando, claim a nobler strain ; Though his mad capers meet the general view In half a hundred cantos, mine in two.
Página 150 - They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. ' The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice as of the cherub-choir Gales from blooming Eden bear, And distant warblings lessen on my ear That lost in long futurity expire.
Página 251 - Will he not fence my weedless turf around, Sacred from dull-eyed folly's vagrant feet, And there, soft swelling in aerial sound, Will he not list, at eve, to voices sweet ; Strew with the spring's first flowers the little mound, And often muse within the lone retreat ! Yes, though I not affect the immortal lay. Nor bold effusions of the learned quill, Nor often have I wound my tedious way Up the steep summit of the muse's hill ; Yet sometimes have I poured the incondite lay, And sometimes have I...
Página 31 - O'er my fantastic dream the well-loved muse, Like morn dim-blushing through its dewy veil. Her wild flowers, bound into a simple wreath, Meekly she proffers to thy partial sight. Oh, softly on their tender foliage breathe ! Oh, save them from the critic's cruel blight ! Nurse the unfolding blooms with care benign, And 'mid them weave one laurel leaf of thine.
Página 23 - The shelves around,* Convulsive, gave a hideous groan profound ; The Baviad thrice, in sympathetic pain, Open'd its filial leaves, and clos'd again : The parrot burst her cage, loquacious fowl! And on the chimney perch'd the mystic owl : When lo ! dilated into tenfold might, In breadth a hogshead, and a tow'r in height, In rush'd the bulk of Peter.
Página 131 - Thine was the manner of the mind. Had he but gain'd his manhood's mighty prime, Bright as the Sun, and as the Sun sublime, His soaring soul had borne the awful wand Of magic power, and o'er the fairy land Of Fancy shed a new poetic race, Lending creation to his favor'd place. But oh ! the dying sounds decay, Ah ! they fade away, Melting, melting, melting, Melting from the ear of day. Despair assumes the Muse's lyre, Damps each softly sinking fire, Presses the fury spirit down below, And tells his...

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