The Works of the British Poets: With Lives of the Authors, Band 34Mitchell, Ames, and White, 1822 |
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The Works Of The British Poets: With Lives Of The Authors;, Band 15 Ezekiel Sanford,Robert Walsh Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2019 |
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Albion ancient awful bards Basingstoke beneath bids bloom boast bold bosom bowers breast bright brows charms crown crown'd dale dark deep delight divine dread Druids eyes fair fame Fancy fire flowers Freedom calls gloomy glows golden gothic grace green groves hail hand head hear heart Heaven hills History of Poetry hoary honours Isis JOSEPH WARTON kings Lisbon Lusiad lyre maid mead Mickle mild mind Monaeses morn Muse Muse's Nature's night numbers nymph o'er Odes Oxford pale patriot peace pensive Pindar plain poems poetry pomp pride proud Queen racter Radcliffe Library rage rise round sacred sage scene shade shine shore smiles soft solemn song sooth soul Spenser strain stream sublime swains sweet Tagus tear thee Theocritus thine THOMAS WARTON thou throne toils towers trembling Tunworth vale verse warbling Warton wave ween wild woes wreath XXXIV youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 234 - Cherwell," under the name of John Chichester, brother to the earl of Donegal f. His next publication was the " Oxford Sausage, or select pieces written by the most celebrated wits of the university of Oxford.
Seite 174 - But as he is convinced that the fashion of moralizing in verse has been carried too far, and as he looks upon Invention and imagination to be the chief faculties of a poet, so he will be happy if the following Odes may be looked upon as an attempt to bring back Poetry into its right channel.
Seite 213 - Warm caves, and deep-sunk valleys liv'd and lov'd, By cares unwounded ; what the sun and showers, And genial earth untillag'd could produce, They gather'd grateful, or the acorn brown, Or blushing berry ; by the liquid lapse Of...
Seite 287 - When morning's twilight-tinctured beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in ether blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew ; The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell, That nodding shades a craggy delL Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear : On green untrodden banks they view The hyacinth's neglected hue : In their lone haunts, anil woodland rounds, They spy the squirrel's airy bounds...
Seite 357 - And thought my way was all through fairy ground, Beneath thy azure sky, and golden sun : Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun ! While pensive Memory traces back the round, Which fills the varied interval between ; Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene...
Seite 354 - Piety displays Her mouldering roll, the piercing eye explores New manners, and the pomp of elder days, Whence culls the pensive bard his pictured stores.
Seite 318 - Thy battering engines, huge and high, " In vain our steel-clad steeds defy ; " And, rolling in terrific state, <• " On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate.
Seite 264 - I loved to roam, A lingering votary, the vaulted dome, Where the tall shafts, that mount in massy pride, Their mingling branches shoot from side to side ; Where elfin sculptors, with fantastic clew, O'er the long roof their wild embroidery drew ; Where Superstition, with capricious hand, In many a maze the wreathed window plannM, With hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane, To fill with holy light the wondrous fane...
Seite 216 - On tier soft lap he sat, and caught the sounds. Oft near some crowded city would I walk, Listening the far-off noises, rattling cars. Loud shouts of joy, sad shrieks of sorrow, knells Full slowly tolling, instruments of trade, Striking mine ears with one deep-swelling hum. Or wandering near the sea, attend the sounds Of hollow winds, and ever-beating waves, Ev'n when wild tempests swallow up the plains, And Boreas...
Seite 265 - No more the matchless skill I call unkind, That strives to disenchant my cheated mind. For when again I view thy chaste design, The just proportion, and the genuine line; Those native portraitures of Attic art, That from the lucid surface seem to start; Those tints, that steal no glories from the day, Nor ask the sun to lend his streaming ray...