Mit mondanak mások - Írjon ismertetőt
Nem találtunk ismertetőket a szokott helyeken.
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
abodes Addison amidst appear arms atque beauties bees behold blood breast bright Britannia's British Cadmus chariot charms Christ Church College circum cloth lettered cries Cycnus Dictionary divine earth Edition English Ev'n ev'ry eyes fain fate fcap fear fields fire fix'd flames flow'ry foolscap Foolscap 8vo fury Gaul Georgic gilt edges give goddess Godfrey Kneller gods grace Greek heat heaven hero Hesiod hive immortal J. C. Loudon John Farey join'd Jove kindled labours Latin light limbs look lord lord Halifax maid mighty moral muse nations nature neighb'ring numbers nunc nymph o'er Ovid Pentheus Phaeton plain pleas'd poem poet poetry rage rais'd reader rise round shade shining shore sight skies sound steeds stood story streams tell thee thou thought thunder Tiresias toils tongue tow'ring trembling turns verse view'd Virgil voice volume Whilst whole Wilson Lowry winds woods youth
xii. oldal - He might well rejoice at the death of that which he could not have killed. Every reader of every party, since personal malice is past and the papers which once inflamed the nation are read only as effusions of wit, must wish for more of the Whig Examiners ; for on no occasion was the genius of Addison more vigorously exerted, and on none did the superiority of his powers more evidently appear.
46. oldal - For wheresoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes, gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, poetic fields encompass me around, and still I seem to tread on classic ground; for here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, that not a mountain rears its head unsung, renown'd in verse each shady thicket grows, and every stream in heavenly numbers flows.
37. oldal - I'll try to make their several beauties known, And show their verses worth tho' not my own. .Long had our dull forefathers slept supine, Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine, Till Chaucer first, a merry bard, arose, And many a story told in rhyme and prose. But age has rusted what the poet writ, Worn out his language, and obscured his wit; In vain he jests in his unpolished strain, And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.