The English Poets: Addison to BlakeThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan and Company, 1880 - English poetry |
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Page 2
... praise were addressed to the not very noble Earl of Oxford . Whether or no Pope really felt as he pretended , he seemed at least to write with ardour , but the style of Addison's panegyrics on King William III is as artificial as the ...
... praise were addressed to the not very noble Earl of Oxford . Whether or no Pope really felt as he pretended , he seemed at least to write with ardour , but the style of Addison's panegyrics on King William III is as artificial as the ...
Page 6
... praise of Pope . The lines of the latter , written in 1709 , are familiar to most readers , but may be quoted here ... praising his very remarkable Defence of the Fair Sex , in which the young poet , in an age given up to selfish ...
... praise of Pope . The lines of the latter , written in 1709 , are familiar to most readers , but may be quoted here ... praising his very remarkable Defence of the Fair Sex , in which the young poet , in an age given up to selfish ...
Page 17
... writings it is hard to understand how he could ever have penned this egregious didactic work . Yet he not only wrote it , but he hoped to live by VOL . III . C it , and grew petulant when Pope declined to praise MATTHEW PRIOR (1664-1721)
... writings it is hard to understand how he could ever have penned this egregious didactic work . Yet he not only wrote it , but he hoped to live by VOL . III . C it , and grew petulant when Pope declined to praise MATTHEW PRIOR (1664-1721)
Page 18
Thomas Humphry Ward. it , and grew petulant when Pope declined to praise it as a master- piece . ' Indeed , poor Solomon in rhyme Was much too grave to be sublime , ' exclaimed its disappointed author in his last - published piece of The ...
Thomas Humphry Ward. it , and grew petulant when Pope declined to praise it as a master- piece . ' Indeed , poor Solomon in rhyme Was much too grave to be sublime , ' exclaimed its disappointed author in his last - published piece of The ...
Page 23
... play . My lyre I tune , my voice I raise ; But with my numbers mix my sighs : And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise , I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes . Fair Chloe blushed : Euphelia frowned : I sung and MATTHEW PRIOR . 23 An.
... play . My lyre I tune , my voice I raise ; But with my numbers mix my sighs : And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise , I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes . Fair Chloe blushed : Euphelia frowned : I sung and MATTHEW PRIOR . 23 An.
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Common terms and phrases
Addison admiration Ambrose Philips beauty beneath blank verse blest born breast breath Castle of Indolence charms couplet court criticism death Dunciad e'er Eclogues English English poetry Epistle Essay Essay on Criticism Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fool frae genius GEORGE SAINTSBURY grace grave Gray Grongar Hill hand happy head heart heaven Horace kings knave live Lord Lord Hervey mind moral muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er once passion perhaps Pindaric pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's pow'rs praise pride prose rhyme rise round satire sense shade shine sing smile song soul spirit Spleen style sweet Swift taste tell thee things thou thought thro toil trembling truth turns Twas verse virtue Whig wind wise write youth
Popular passages
Page 258 - Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
Page 563 - Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that. For a
Page 564 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 561 - Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a Slave ? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's King and Law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw ; Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', Let him on wi
Page 374 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 330 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Page 557 - I'll wage thee. Who shall say that fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy ; But to see her was to love her ; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Page 377 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds, too late, that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is— to die.
Page 327 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 527 - My loved, my honored, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah!