Oxford: A Poem

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S. Collingwood; pub. by Whittaker, London, 1831 - 258 pāgines
 

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Pāgina 183 - But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.
Pāgina 210 - O! why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men, as angels, without feminine; Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
Pāgina 219 - Twere well might Critics still this freedom take, But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And stares, tremendous, with a threat'ning eye, Like some fierce Tyrant in old tapestry.
Pāgina 184 - Oxford with a stock of erudition that might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree of ignorance of which a school-boy would have been ashamed.
Pāgina 213 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Pāgina 211 - Men some to business, some to pleasure take ; But every woman is at heart a rake : Men some to quiet, some to public strife ; But every lady would be queen for life.
Pāgina 230 - Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights, How oft unwearied have we spent the nights, Till the Ledaean stars, so famed for love, Wonder'd at us from above! We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine ; But search of deep Philosophy, Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry, Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine.
Pāgina 191 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow • warmer among...
Pāgina 190 - A poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently great to attract much attention ; his real merits are known but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. When his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to investigate the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews of morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase by the meridian splendor.
Pāgina 203 - Be of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in England, as, I trust, shall never be put out.

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