English bards, and Scotch reviewers: a satire |
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Side 9
... fame , The cry is up , and Scribblers are my game : Speed , Pegasus ! —ye strains of great and small , Ode ! Epic ! Elegy , have at you all ! I , too , can scrawl , and once upon a time I poured along the town a flood of rhyme , A ...
... fame , The cry is up , and Scribblers are my game : Speed , Pegasus ! —ye strains of great and small , Ode ! Epic ! Elegy , have at you all ! I , too , can scrawl , and once upon a time I poured along the town a flood of rhyme , A ...
Side 12
... fame . Like him great DRYDEN poured the tide of song , In stream less smooth , indeed , yet doubly strong . Then CONGREVE's scenes could cheer , or Orway's melt ; For Nature then an English audience felt- But why these names , or ...
... fame . Like him great DRYDEN poured the tide of song , In stream less smooth , indeed , yet doubly strong . Then CONGREVE's scenes could cheer , or Orway's melt ; For Nature then an English audience felt- But why these names , or ...
Side 16
... fame : Low may they sink to merited contempt , Aud scorn remunerate the mean attempt ! Such be their meed , such still the just reward Of prostituted Muse and hireling Bard ! For this we spurn Apollo's venal son , And bid a long ...
... fame : Low may they sink to merited contempt , Aud scorn remunerate the mean attempt ! Such be their meed , such still the just reward Of prostituted Muse and hireling Bard ! For this we spurn Apollo's venal son , And bid a long ...
Side 26
... fame and genius from the first Have foiled the best of critics , needs the worst , Do thou essay ; each fault , each failing scan ; The first of poets was , alas ! but man ! Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl , Consult Lord ...
... fame and genius from the first Have foiled the best of critics , needs the worst , Do thou essay ; each fault , each failing scan ; The first of poets was , alas ! but man ! Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl , Consult Lord ...
Side 38
... fame ! In grim array though LEWIS ' spectres rise , Still SKEFFINGTON and Goose divide the prize . And sure great SKEFFINGTON must claim our praise , For skirtless coats , and skeletons of plays , Renowned alike ; whose genius ne'er ...
... fame ! In grim array though LEWIS ' spectres rise , Still SKEFFINGTON and Goose divide the prize . And sure great SKEFFINGTON must claim our praise , For skirtless coats , and skeletons of plays , Renowned alike ; whose genius ne'er ...
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English bards and Scotch reviewers; a satire. To which is added, An ode to ... George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1814 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
ARTHUR'S seat Bard beauties Behold blest boast BOWLES BOWLES's Caledonia's CAMOENS CAPEL LOFFT CARLISLE CATULLUS Condemned COTTLE Critics daily prints damned dare display dull Dunciad E'en Edinburgh Review ENGLISH BARDS Epic fame feel follies fools genius GIFFORD HAFIZ hail HALLAM hallowed hath heroes HOLLAND's honour hope inspiration JEFFREY JEFFREY'S Joan of Arc Juvenal labour LAMB LITTLE'S Lord Lord CARLISLE Lord Fanny Lordship lyre Lyrical Ballads mighty mind Minstrel Muse night numbers o'er once perchance pistol Pixies poem Poesy Poet's poetry POPE praise Prince prose published resign rhyme Satire Satirist scenes SCOTCH REVIEWERS scrawl scribbler SKEFFINGTON sleep Sleeping Beauties song Sonnets sons soul SOUTHEY SOUTHEY's spare Spirit spurn Stanza STOTT strain STRANGFORD taste Thalaba themes thine thing thou throng thy muse thy pen Tolbooth traduce Triumphs Tweed verse William of Deloraine worthy write yield
Populære avsnitt
Side 51 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel „ While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Side 1 - Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers ; I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Side 50 - Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge, in October, 1806, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret, that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume.
Side 16 - Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; A mighty mixture of the great and base.
Side 16 - ... line ? No ! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : Still...
Side 9 - Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.
Side 10 - A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit ; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Side 50 - UNHAPPY White !* while life was in its spring, And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When science...
Side 19 - Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double : Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?
Side 11 - twill pass for wit; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment? no— as soon Seek roses in December— ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.