Reader! Walk Up at Once (it Will Soon be Too Late) and Buy at a Perfectly Ruinous Rate A Fable for Critics: Or, Better, (I Like, as a Thing that the Reader's First Fancy May Strike, an Old-fashioned Title-page, Such as Presents a Tabular View of the Volume's Contents) A Glance at a Few of Our Literary Progenies (Mrs. Malaprop's Word) from The Tub of Diogenes; a Vocal and Musical Medley. That Is, a Series of Jokes
Putnam, 1848 - 78 oldal
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Reader! Walk Up at Once (It Will Soon Be Too Late) and Buy at a Perfectly ...
James Russell Lowell
Nincs elérhető előnézet - 2015
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42. oldal - All honor and praise to the right-hearted bard Who was true to The Voice when such service was hard, Who himself was so free he dared sing for the slave When to look but a protest in silence was brave...
68. oldal - There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme, He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders, The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching...
28. oldal - A convert to nothing but Emerson. So perfect a balance there is in his head, That he talks of things sometimes as if they were dead; Life, nature, love, God, and affairs of that sort, He looks at as merely ideas; in short, As if they were fossils stuck round in a cabinet, Of such vast extent that our earth's a mere dab in it; Composed just as he is inclined to conjecture her, Namely, one part pure earth, ninety-nine parts pure lecturer...
68. oldal - t so worthy of praise As the tribute of Holmes to the grand Marseillaise. You went crazy last year over Bulwer's New Timon ; — Why, if B., to the day of his dying, should rhyme on, Heaping verses on verses and tomes upon tomes, He could ne'er reach the best point and vigor of Holmes. His are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satiric In a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes That are trodden upon are your own or your foes'.
68. oldal - I call a sham metre, But many admire it, the English pentameter, And Campbell, I think, wrote most commonly worse, With less nerve, swing, and fire in the same kind of verse, Nor e'er achieved aught in't so worthy of praise As the tribute of Holmes to the grand Marseillaise.
58. oldal - Does it make a man worse that his character 's such As to make his friends love him (as you think) too much ? Why, there is not a bard at this moment alive More willing than he that his fellows should thrive ; While you are abusing him thus, even now He would help either one of you out of a slough...
41. oldal - O leather-clad Fox? Can that be thy son, in the battle's mid din, Preaching brotherly love and then driving it in To the brain of the tough old Goliath of sin, With the smoothest of pebbles from Castaly's spring Impressed on his hard moral sense with a sling?
47. oldal - Don't suppose I would underrate Cooper's abilities; If I thought you'd do that, I should feel very ill at ease; The men who have given to one character life And objective existence are not very rife; You may number them all, both prose-writers and singers, Without overrunning the bounds of your fingers, And Natty won't go to oblivion quicker Than Adams the parson or Primrose the vicar.
47. oldal - As a cooper would do in composing a cask; He picks out the staves, of their qualities heedful, Just hoops them together as tight as is needful, And, if the best fortune should crown the attempt, he Has made at the most something wooden and empty.