Select Works of the British Poets: With Biographical and Critical Prefaces, Volume 8John Aikin Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme & Brown, 1821 - 807 pages |
Expressions et termes fréquents
Ambition amid ANTISTROPHE art thou aweful beauty behold beneath blest bliss blissful band bloom boast bosom breast breath bright celestial charms dare dark death delight divine Doddington dread Earth ECLOGUE Eirin eternal fair fame Fancy fate father flame folly fond fool glory gods grace hand happy hast heart Heaven honours human immortal labour lord Lorenzo lyre maid mankind Margaret of Anjou mighty mind mortal Muse Muse's Naiads Nature Nature's ne'er night numbers nymphs o'er Odin pain passion Pindar pleasure pomp praise pride proud reign rills rise sacred Satire scene scorn shade shame shine skies smile smiling band song soul stars strains stream sublime sweet tears tender terrour thee theme thine things thought throne TOBIAS SMOLLETT toil tongue triumph truth vale verse Vex'd virtue voice whence wing wisdom wise wonder youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 282 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
Page 279 - Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry : Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Page 264 - customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 265 - Awake, ^Eolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : The laughing flowers that round them blow Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong. Thro
Page 229 - His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him.
Page 280 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his suffrings : all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, Th
Page 262 - Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes...
Page 283 - Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land ; With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Page 271 - But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest, Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive, kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? A solitary fly ! Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display : On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — We frolic, while 'tis May.
Page 261 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and...