The English Poets: Addison to BlakeThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan and Company, 1880 |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 43 találatból.
4. oldal
... pass , Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands , When her proud foe rang'd on their borders stands . But O , my muse , what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle join'd ! Methinks I hear the drum's ...
... pass , Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands , When her proud foe rang'd on their borders stands . But O , my muse , what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle join'd ! Methinks I hear the drum's ...
21. oldal
... pass for a most virtuous dame , And I for an unhappy poet . Then too , alas ! when she shall tear The lines some younger rival sends ; She'll give me leave to write , I fear , And we shall still continue friends . For , as our different ...
... pass for a most virtuous dame , And I for an unhappy poet . Then too , alas ! when she shall tear The lines some younger rival sends ; She'll give me leave to write , I fear , And we shall still continue friends . For , as our different ...
31. oldal
... passing clouds give place , Or thinly veil the heaven's mysterious face , When in some river , overhung with green , The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen , When freshened grass now bears itself upright , And makes cool banks to ...
... passing clouds give place , Or thinly veil the heaven's mysterious face , When in some river , overhung with green , The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen , When freshened grass now bears itself upright , And makes cool banks to ...
48. oldal
... owns himself to blame , ) He found the wisest man he could , Without respect to friends or blood ; Nor ever acts on private views , When he has liberty to choose . The Sharper swore he hated play , Except to pass 48 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... owns himself to blame , ) He found the wisest man he could , Without respect to friends or blood ; Nor ever acts on private views , When he has liberty to choose . The Sharper swore he hated play , Except to pass 48 THE ENGLISH POETS .
49. oldal
Thomas Humphry Ward. The Sharper swore he hated play , Except to pass an hour away : And well he might ; for , to his cost , By want of skill , he always lost ; He heard there was a club of cheats , Who had contrived a thousand feats ...
Thomas Humphry Ward. The Sharper swore he hated play , Except to pass an hour away : And well he might ; for , to his cost , By want of skill , he always lost ; He heard there was a club of cheats , Who had contrived a thousand feats ...
Tartalomjegyzék
97 | |
103 | |
114 | |
123 | |
130 | |
145 | |
154 | |
159 | |
168 | |
183 | |
189 | |
190 | |
203 | |
217 | |
230 | |
239 | |
245 | |
254 | |
260 | |
267 | |
272 | |
368 | |
382 | |
388 | |
396 | |
422 | |
447 | |
453 | |
471 | |
477 | |
484 | |
501 | |
512 | |
520 | |
526 | |
537 | |
543 | |
549 | |
560 | |
572 | |
581 | |
596 | |
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Addison admiration Ambrose Philips beauty beneath blank verse blest born breast breath Castle of Indolence charms couplet court criticism death Dunciad e'er Eclogues English English poetry Epistle Essay Essay on Criticism Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fool frae genius GEORGE SAINTSBURY grace grave Gray Grongar Hill hand happy head heart heaven Horace kings knave live Lord Lord Hervey mind moral muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er once passion perhaps 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
Népszerű szakaszok
258. oldal - Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
563. oldal - Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that. For a
564. oldal - Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
561. oldal - Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a Slave ? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's King and Law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw ; Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', Let him on wi
374. oldal - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
330. oldal - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own.
557. oldal - 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.
377. oldal - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds, too late, that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is— to die.
327. oldal - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
527. oldal - My loved, my honored, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah!