The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, 1. kötet

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J. Murray, 1834 - 336 oldal

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10. oldal - Where the thin harvest waves its withered ears ; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war ; There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil...
319. oldal - When the ear heard him, then it blessed him: and when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him. Because he delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him; and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
47. oldal - And a bold, artful, surly, savage race ; Who, only skill'd to take the finny tribe, The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, Wait on the shore, and as the waves run high, On the tost vessel bend their eager eye ; Which to their coast directs its vent'rous way, Their's or the ocean's miserable prey.
83. oldal - They broke the roof, tore away the rafters, and having got ladders they descended. Not Orpheus himself had more courage or better luck; flames all around them, and a body of soldiers expected, they defied and laughed at all opposition. The prisoners escaped. I stood and saw...
23. oldal - He wrote upon every occasion, and without occasion ; and like greater men, and, indeed, like almost every young versifier, he planned tragedies and epic poems, and began to think of succeeding in the highest line of composition, before he had made one good and commendable effort in the lowest.
17. oldal - George was the first that entered. and the place being crammed full with offenders, the atmosphere soon became pestilentially close. The poor boy in vain shrieked that he was about to be suffocated. At last, in despair, he bit the lad next to him violently in the hand ; " Crabbe is dying, Crabbe is dying!
232. oldal - But your motive for writing to me was your desire of knowing whether my men and women were really existing creatures, or beings of my own imagination? Nay, Mary Leadbeater, yours was a better motive : you thought that you should give pleasure by writing, and — yet you will think me very vain — you felt some pleasure yourself in renewing the acquaintance that commenced under such auspices!
210. oldal - I think those hymns which do not immediately recall the warm and exalted language of the Bible are apt to be, however elegant, rather cold and flat for the purposes of devotion. You will readily believe that I do not approve of the vague and indiscriminate Scripture language which the fanatics of old, and the modern Methodists, have adopted...
12. oldal - Whose outward splendour is but folly's dress, Exposing most, when most it gilds distress. Here joyless roam a wild amphibious race, With sullen woe display'd in every face ; Who, far from civil arts and social fly, And scowl at strangers with suspicious eye.
118. oldal - I have sent you back Mr. Crabbe's poem ; which " I read with great delight. It is original, vigorous, and elegant. " The alterations which I have made, I do not require him to " adopt ; for my lines are, perhaps, not often better [than] his "own: but he may take mine and his own together, and "perhaps, between them, produce something better than "either. — He is not to think his copy wantonly defaced; a "wet sponge will wash all the red lines away, and leave the "pages clean.

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