Studies in English poetry [an anthology] with biogr. sketches and notes by J. PayneJoseph Payne 1845 |
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Studies in English Poetry [An Anthology] with Biogr. Sketches and Notes by J ... Joseph Payne Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Studies in English Poetry [An Anthology] with Biogr. Sketches and Notes by J ... Joseph Payne Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Términos y frases comunes
allusion ancient Anglo-Saxon beams beauty behold beneath blessing blest bliss breast breath bright Cæsar called charm Chaucer cheerful clouds Cowper crown dark death deep delight doth earth ENGLISH POETRY eternal eyes Faerie Queen fair fame fancy fear flowers glory golden grace Greece green Grongar Hill hand hast hath heard heart heaven hills honour Il Penseroso Julius Cæsar king Latin light lines living Lord Lycidas Milton mind morning mountains muse nature never night numbers o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Pindar pleasure poem poet poetical poetry praise pride Queen rills rise rocks round says scene shade sight silent sing sleep smile soft solemn song soul sound spirit spring stanza stars stream sweet tears thee thine things Thomas Warton thou thought tower Twas vale verse voice Walter Scott wave wild winds wings word
Pasajes populares
Página 274 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty ; Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Página 132 - There was a sound of revelry by night. And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again ; And all went merry as a marriage-bell, But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.
Página 304 - Weep no more, woful 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...
Página 300 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Página 302 - Ay me! I fondly dream! Had ye been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Página 278 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; •> I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil, that men do, lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; \ So let it be with Caesar.
Página 457 - Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men, Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, The mere materials with which wisdom builds, Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much ; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Página 91 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Página 273 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Página 448 - More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain, The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast...