The English Poets: Addison to BlakeMacmillan and Company, 1889 |
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Página 15
... hand the gipsy bears , In th ' other a prophetic sieve and sheers . [ Fortune speaks . ] " Tis I that give , so mighty is my power , Faith to the Jew , complexion to the Moor , I am the wretch's wish , the rook's pretence , The ...
... hand the gipsy bears , In th ' other a prophetic sieve and sheers . [ Fortune speaks . ] " Tis I that give , so mighty is my power , Faith to the Jew , complexion to the Moor , I am the wretch's wish , the rook's pretence , The ...
Página 20
... hand my Horace , a Nymph on my right ; No Mémoire to compose and no Post - boy to move That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love ; For her , neither visits , nor parties at tea , Nor the long - winded cant of a dull refugee : This ...
... hand my Horace , a Nymph on my right ; No Mémoire to compose and no Post - boy to move That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love ; For her , neither visits , nor parties at tea , Nor the long - winded cant of a dull refugee : This ...
Página 28
... hand , her less ambitious studies have a singular perfection of form and picturesqueness of manner . She lights upon the right epithet and employs it with precision , and gives a brilliant turn , even to a triviality , by some bright ...
... hand , her less ambitious studies have a singular perfection of form and picturesqueness of manner . She lights upon the right epithet and employs it with precision , and gives a brilliant turn , even to a triviality , by some bright ...
Página 30
... hand , Till that large stock of sap is spent , Which gives thy summer's ornament ; Till the fierce winds , that vainly strive To shock thy greatness whilst alive , Shall on thy lifeless hour attend , Prevent the axe and grace thy end ...
... hand , Till that large stock of sap is spent , Which gives thy summer's ornament ; Till the fierce winds , that vainly strive To shock thy greatness whilst alive , Shall on thy lifeless hour attend , Prevent the axe and grace thy end ...
Página 36
... hand . In the Tale of a Tub he anticipates Teufelsdröckh in his contempt for trappings of speech as of person ; he regarded fine language as leather and prunella . Though Swift's Allegories are abundant , he disdained ordinary metaphor ...
... hand . In the Tale of a Tub he anticipates Teufelsdröckh in his contempt for trappings of speech as of person ; he regarded fine language as leather and prunella . Though Swift's Allegories are abundant , he disdained ordinary metaphor ...
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Términos y frases comunes
admiration Æsop Ambrose Philips beauty beneath blank verse bless blest born breast breath Castle of Indolence charms couplet court criticism death delight Dunciad English English poetry Epistle Essay Essay on Criticism Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fool frae genius GEORGE SAINTSBURY glory grace grave Gray Grongar Hill hand happy heart heaven Horace kings knave labour literary live Lord Lord Hervey mind moral muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er once passion Pindaric pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's pow'rs praise pride prose rhyme rise round satire sense shade shine sing smile song soul spirit Spleen style sweet Swift taste tell thee things thou thought thro toil trembling truth turns Twas verse virtue Whig wind wise write youth
Pasajes populares
Página 604 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a Lamb!' So I piped with merry cheer. 'Piper, pipe that song again;
Página 375 - Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share...
Página 478 - Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own ; And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she.
Página 561 - I'll wage thee. Who shall say that fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy ; But to see her was to love her ; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Página 479 - Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! It answers — Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu l But was it such ? — It was.
Página 534 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave: Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found! O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare: — If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the...
Página 562 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie ; . For dear to me, as light and life, \ Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace, Our parting was fu...
Página 536 - O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And...
Página 474 - It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes.
Página 381 - Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind ; His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand, His manners were gentle, complying, and bland : Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.