The English Poets: Selections with Critical Introductions by Various Writers and a General Introduction, Volume 3Macmillan, 1881 - English poetry |
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Page 4
... breasts demand the strife , And thirst of glory quells the love of life . No vulgar fears can British minds control Heat of revenge , and noble pride of soul , O'erlook the foe , advantag'd by his post , Lessen his numbers , and ...
... breasts demand the strife , And thirst of glory quells the love of life . No vulgar fears can British minds control Heat of revenge , and noble pride of soul , O'erlook the foe , advantag'd by his post , Lessen his numbers , and ...
Page 8
... breast ? But since so few can live from passion free , Happy the man , and only happy he , Who with such lucky stars begins his love , That his cool judgment does his choice approve . Ill - grounded passions quickly wear away ; What's ...
... breast ? But since so few can live from passion free , Happy the man , and only happy he , Who with such lucky stars begins his love , That his cool judgment does his choice approve . Ill - grounded passions quickly wear away ; What's ...
Page 25
... breast . So when I am wearied with wandering all day ; To thee , my delight , in the evening I come : No matter what beauties I saw in my way : They were but my visits , but thou art my home . Then finish , dear Chloe , this pastoral ...
... breast . So when I am wearied with wandering all day ; To thee , my delight , in the evening I come : No matter what beauties I saw in my way : They were but my visits , but thou art my home . Then finish , dear Chloe , this pastoral ...
Page 29
... breast Like thine , when best he sings , is placed against a thorn . She begins ! Let all be still ! Muse , thy promise now fulfil ! Sweet ! oh sweet ! still sweeter yet ! Can thy words such accents fit ? Canst thou syllables refine ...
... breast Like thine , when best he sings , is placed against a thorn . She begins ! Let all be still ! Muse , thy promise now fulfil ! Sweet ! oh sweet ! still sweeter yet ! Can thy words such accents fit ? Canst thou syllables refine ...
Page 39
... breast Is inactivity at best : But never shall the Muse endure To let your virtues lie obscure ; Or suffer Envy to conceal Your labours for the public weal . Within your breast all wisdom lies , Either to govern or advise ; Your steady ...
... breast Is inactivity at best : But never shall the Muse endure To let your virtues lie obscure ; Or suffer Envy to conceal Your labours for the public weal . Within your breast all wisdom lies , Either to govern or advise ; Your steady ...
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Common terms and phrases
Addison admiration Ambrose Philips beauty beneath Birks of Aberfeldy blest born breast breath Burns charm Chatterton criticism dear death delight Dryden Dunciad e'er Eclogues English English poetry Epistle Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate feel fool frae genius GEORGE SAINTSBURY grace Gratius Faliscus grave Gray Grongar Hill hand happy hear heart heaven Horace Walpole kings labour literary live Lord Lord Hervey mind moral muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er once pain passion perhaps Pindaric pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's praise pride prose rhyme rise round satire sense shade shine sing smile song soul spirit Spleen sweet Swift taste tear tell thee things thou thought thro toil trembling truth turns Twas verse virtue Whig wind wise write youth
Popular passages
Page 263 - 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 stay'd, All my help from Thee I bring: Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
Page 288 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Page 262 - Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.
Page 478 - I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own ; And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she.
Page 464 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 335 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' THE EPITAPH 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. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, . Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misery all he had, a tear: He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
Page 562 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my...
Page 373 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Page 375 - Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share...
Page 483 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!