The Works of Thomas Gray, Volum 1Bell and Daldy, 1857 |
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Side xvii
... writer of an English Dictionary be ignorant that the ready conversion of our substantives into verbs , participles , and participial adjectives , is of the very essence of our own tongue , derived to it from its Saxon origin , and a ...
... writer of an English Dictionary be ignorant that the ready conversion of our substantives into verbs , participles , and participial adjectives , is of the very essence of our own tongue , derived to it from its Saxon origin , and a ...
Side xxviii
... writing to Sir William Forbes , says : " Of all the English poets of this age , Mr. Gray is most admired , and I think with justice ; yet there are comparatively speaking , but a few who know any thing of his , but his Church - yard ...
... writing to Sir William Forbes , says : " Of all the English poets of this age , Mr. Gray is most admired , and I think with justice ; yet there are comparatively speaking , but a few who know any thing of his , but his Church - yard ...
Side xxx
... writing called ' Philodamus , ' which was acted at Covent Garden . For an account of R. Bentley see Brydges ' Restituta , vol . iv . p . 364. Scott's Lives of the Novelists , vol . ii . p . 235. Boaden's Life of Mrs. Siddons , i . p ...
... writing called ' Philodamus , ' which was acted at Covent Garden . For an account of R. Bentley see Brydges ' Restituta , vol . iv . p . 364. Scott's Lives of the Novelists , vol . ii . p . 235. Boaden's Life of Mrs. Siddons , i . p ...
Side xxxv
... write his own Ode . I like Mr. Whitehead's little poems , ( I mean The Ode on a Tent , The Verses to Garrick , and particularly those to Charles Townshend , ) better than any thing I had ever seen before of him . I gladly pass over H ...
... write his own Ode . I like Mr. Whitehead's little poems , ( I mean The Ode on a Tent , The Verses to Garrick , and particularly those to Charles Townshend , ) better than any thing I had ever seen before of him . I gladly pass over H ...
Side xxxvi
... write prose , write sermons , write nothing at all , ' they will dis- dain me and my advice . Mr. S. Jenyns now and then can write a good line or two , such as these : ' Snatch us from all our little sorrows here , Calm every grief ...
... write prose , write sermons , write nothing at all , ' they will dis- dain me and my advice . Mr. S. Jenyns now and then can write a good line or two , such as these : ' Snatch us from all our little sorrows here , Calm every grief ...
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Agrippina Amor ancient Anicetus Antrobus appears atque Bard beautiful cæsura called Cambridge Cicero Comus Cowley death Dodsley Dryden Dunciad edition Eirin elegant Elegy English Essay Eton College expression fame fate flowers genius Gentleman's Magazine Georg golden Gray Gray's hæc heart honour Horace Hymn imitation king language Latin letter Lord Lucret Lucretius Luke Lycidas Margaret of Anjou Mason says Mason's Memoirs Mathias Milt Milton mind morn Muse never night o'er Odin original Ovid passage Petrarch Pindar pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Pope printed Prophetess published quæ Rogers satire sister smile soft song Spenser Spring stanza Statius Taliessin taste thee THOMAS GRAY Thomson thou thought thro tion translated vale verse Virg Wakefield Walpole Walpole's Warton weep West wings write written wrote δὲ
Populære avsnitt
Side 101 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Side 8 - Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Side 83 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, And weep the more because I weep in vain...
Side 90 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Side 34 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
Side 5 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Side 21 - Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay. With arms sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way : O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.
Side 93 - But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his...
Side 5 - Henry's holy shade ; And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way...
Side 56 - And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves...