Chambers's Cyclopædia of English Literature: A History, Critical and Biographical, of British and American Authors, with Specimens of Their Writings, Bände 5-6Robert Chambers American Book Exchange, 1880 |
Im Buch
Ergebnisse 1-5 von 79
Seite
... Poor Jack .. 299 245 John Collins ( died in 1898 ) . 299 .245 Death of Marmion . .246 Song , " In the Downhill of Life " ... 300 Robert Knowles ( 1798-1817 ) .. 300 Lake " The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill ... 248 Coronach . - From " The ...
... Poor Jack .. 299 245 John Collins ( died in 1898 ) . 299 .245 Death of Marmion . .246 Song , " In the Downhill of Life " ... 300 Robert Knowles ( 1798-1817 ) .. 300 Lake " The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill ... 248 Coronach . - From " The ...
Seite 9
... poor opinion of the translation of Pope . Setting himself to a daily task of forty lines , he at length accomplished the forty thou- sand verses . He published by subscription , in which his friends were generously active . The work ...
... poor opinion of the translation of Pope . Setting himself to a daily task of forty lines , he at length accomplished the forty thou- sand verses . He published by subscription , in which his friends were generously active . The work ...
Seite 20
... poor thoughts , However trivial all that he conceives . Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise , The dearth of information and good sense That it foretells us , always comes to pass . Cataracts of declamation thunder here ...
... poor thoughts , However trivial all that he conceives . Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise , The dearth of information and good sense That it foretells us , always comes to pass . Cataracts of declamation thunder here ...
Seite 41
... poor elves , Less to display our subject than ourselves : Whate'er we paint - a grot , a flower , a bird , Heavens , how we sweat ! laboriously absurd ! Words of gigantic bulk and uncouth sound , In rattling triads the long sentence ...
... poor elves , Less to display our subject than ourselves : Whate'er we paint - a grot , a flower , a bird , Heavens , how we sweat ! laboriously absurd ! Words of gigantic bulk and uncouth sound , In rattling triads the long sentence ...
Seite 47
... poor and the rich . The Sapphic rhymes of Southey afforded a tempting subject for Indicrons parody , and Canning quotes the following stanza , lest he should be suspected of painting from fancy , and not from life : ' Cold was the night ...
... poor and the rich . The Sapphic rhymes of Southey afforded a tempting subject for Indicrons parody , and Canning quotes the following stanza , lest he should be suspected of painting from fancy , and not from life : ' Cold was the night ...
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
bawbee beauty beneath blank verse breath breeze bright Burns Byron Charles Lamb charm clouds Cockpen Coleridge dark dear death deep delight dream earth English ENGLISH LITERATURE eyes fair fancy father fear feel flowers frae friends gaze Gelert genius grace grave green hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill honour hope Horace Smith hour Kilmeny lady light literary living lonely look Lord Lord Byron MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS mind moon Moore morning mountain native nature never night o'er passion pleasure poem poet poetical poetry pride published round says scene Scotland Scott seemed shade shew sigh silent Sir Walter Scott sleep smile song soul Southey spirit stars stream sweet tale taste tears tender thee thine thou thought Twas Vathek verse voice volume wandering wave wild wind Wordsworth young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 275 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Seite 5 - Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. No: — Men, high-minded men, With powers as far above dull brutes endued, In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; Men, who their duties know, But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain. These constitute a state; And sovereign Law, that state's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill...
Seite 17 - All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, That humour interposed too often makes ; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age...
Seite 295 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Seite 259 - He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday, — All this rushed with his blood.
Seite 378 - So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth : and they left off to build the city.
Seite 137 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother: And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother.
Seite 283 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright.
Seite 290 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown...
Seite 290 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.