Lectures on English Poetry: From the Reign of Edward the Third, to the Time of Burns and Cowper, Delivered at the Russell Institution, in 1827; with Miscellaneous Tales and Poems; Being the Literary Remains of the Late Henry Neele

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Smith, Elder & Company, 1830 - 543 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 70 - Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water.
Pàgina 101 - As a sick girl. Ye gods ! it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone.
Pàgina 202 - Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Pàgina 368 - With saintly shout and solemn jubilee. Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow. And the Cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. With those just spirits that wear victorious palms. Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly: That we on earth with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did.
Pàgina 183 - This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
Pàgina 116 - Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements
Pàgina 33 - tis true, this god did shake : His coward lips did from their colour fly ; And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, , Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius,
Pàgina 203 - ... to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Pàgina 71 - Waller was smooth ; but Dryden taught to join The varying verse, the full resounding line, The long majestic march, and energy divine : Though still some traces of our rustic vein And splay-foot verse remain'd, and will remain.
Pàgina 91 - A blank, my lord : She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i...

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