The Life of Thomas Dermody: Interspersed with Pieces of Original Poetry: Many Exhibiting Unexampled Prematurity of Genuine Poetical Talent; : and Containing a Series of Correspondence with Several Eminent Characters, 2. kötet

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119. oldal - Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride. Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
308. oldal - But I have seen thy work, and I know thee : And, if thou list thyself, what thou canst be. For, though but early in these paths thou tread, I find thee write most worthy to be read. It must be thine own judgment, yet that sends This thy work forth : that judgment mine commends. And, where the most read books, on authors...
300. oldal - twixt earth and heaven, And as Night's chariot through the air was driven, Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song, And silence girt the woods ; no warbling tongue Talk'd to the echo ; satyrs broke their dance, And all the upper world lay in a trance : Only the curled streams soft chidings kept ; And little gales, that from the green leaf swept Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisperings stirr'd, As loath to waken any singing bird.
298. oldal - And further, if by maiden's over-sight, Within doores water were not brought at night, Or if they spred no table, set no bread, They should have nips from toe unto the head ; And for the maid that had perform'd each thing, She in the water-pail bad leave a ring.
193. oldal - SHUT, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, By land...
240. oldal - Who shames a scribbler? break one cobweb through, He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew: Destroy his fib or sophistry, in vain, The creature's at his dirty work again, Throned in the centre of his thin designs, Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines!
261. oldal - You see, we try all shapes, and shifts, and arts, To tempt your favours, and regain your hearts.
145. oldal - He sat up in bed with the blanket wrapped about him, through which he had cut a hole large enough to admit his arm, and, placing the paper upon his knee, scribbled in the best manner he could the verses he was obliged to make.
301. oldal - To teare the passive earth, nor lash his taile About his buttockes broad ; the slimy snayle Might on the wainscot, (by his many mazes Winding meanders and selfe-knitting traces) Be follow'd, where he stucke, his glittering slime Not yet wipt off.
109. oldal - Sfream'd of poetic charm the loveliest light ; Dimm'd by thy mist, and shorn of many a ray, The brilliant glory bursts, and glides away, In purer skies to shed its radiant glow, And leaves a lonely waste of gloom below.

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