The English Poets: Selections with Critical Introductions, Volume 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1905 - English poetry |
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Page 36
... , To grave this short remembrance on my grave : Here Damon lies , whose songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk ; may roses shade the place ! SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER , EARL OF STIRLING ( or STERLINE 36 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... , To grave this short remembrance on my grave : Here Damon lies , whose songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk ; may roses shade the place ! SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER , EARL OF STIRLING ( or STERLINE 36 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Page 48
... , humbly leave I take , Lest the great Pan do awake , That sleeping lies in a deep glade , Under a broad beech's shade . I must go , I must run Swifter than the fiery sun . VOL . II . II . THE RIVER GOD TO 48 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... , humbly leave I take , Lest the great Pan do awake , That sleeping lies in a deep glade , Under a broad beech's shade . I must go , I must run Swifter than the fiery sun . VOL . II . II . THE RIVER GOD TO 48 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Page 67
... shades of colour go to make up a description of real beauty and power . Browne is something of a literary epicure , and however feeble or disconnected may be his narrative of events , he rarely gives us a line which has not been tried ...
... shades of colour go to make up a description of real beauty and power . Browne is something of a literary epicure , and however feeble or disconnected may be his narrative of events , he rarely gives us a line which has not been tried ...
Page 71
... shades his notes of joy , He'd show his anger by some flood at hand And turn the same into a running sand . * * * * * * * * Thus spake the god : but when as in the water The corpse came sinking down , he spied the matter , And catching ...
... shades his notes of joy , He'd show his anger by some flood at hand And turn the same into a running sand . * * * * * * * * Thus spake the god : but when as in the water The corpse came sinking down , he spied the matter , And catching ...
Page 83
... shades , Hath long and bootless dwelt with me . For could I think she some idea were I still might love , forget , and have her here . But such she is not ; nor would I For twice as many torments more , As her bereaved company Hath ...
... shades , Hath long and bootless dwelt with me . For could I think she some idea were I still might love , forget , and have her here . But such she is not ; nor would I For twice as many torments more , As her bereaved company Hath ...
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Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Catullus Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw crown death delight died dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers genius Giles Fletcher glory grace Habington hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert heroic couplet Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Jonson King kiss Lady light live Lord Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rhyme rose sacred satire shade shepherds shine sigh sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thought unto verse Waller wanton weep WILLIAM HABINGTON winds wings Wither write youth
Popular passages
Page 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
Page 218 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 204 - I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature : So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.
Page 455 - A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Page 301 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Page 185 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 178 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!
Page 319 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.
Page 326 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 328 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not; in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks.