The Poets Laureate of England

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E. Stock, 1879 - 308 oldal

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xiv. oldal - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
59. oldal - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one (from whence they came) Had. meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life...
106. oldal - And just abandoning the ungrateful stage : Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expense, I live a rent-charge on his providence : But you, whom every muse and grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains ; and oh, defend, Against your judgment, your departed friend ! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, But shade those laurels which descend to you : And take for tribute what these lines ezpress : You merit more ; nor could my love do less.
116. oldal - Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute. This aged prince, now flourishing in peace And blest with issue of a large increase, Worn out with business, did at length debate To settle the succession of the state; And pondering which of all his sons was fit To reign and wage immortal war with wit, Cried, " 'Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he Should only rule who most resembles me.
264. oldal - For now the Poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry : 'Proclaim the faults he would not show : Break lock and seal: betray the trust: Keep nothing sacred : 'tis but just The many-headed beast should know.
243. oldal - If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain, And Pegasus runs restive in his 'waggon', Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain? Or pray Medea for a single dragon? Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain, He...
238. oldal - YE vales and hills whose beauty hither drew The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you, His eyes have closed ! And ye, loved books, no more Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore, To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, Adding immortal labours of his own — Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal, Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art...
295. oldal - With blare of bugle, clamour of men, Roll of cannon and clash of arms, And England pouring on her foes. Such a war had such a close. Again their ravening eagle rose In anger, wheel'd on...
126. oldal - Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; He, who still wanting, tho...
161. oldal - Cracks and Zig-zags of the Head; All that on Folly Frenzy could beget, Fruits of dull Heat, and Sooterkins of Wit.

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