English Poets of the Eighteenth CenturyErnest Bernbaum C. Scribner's Sons, 1918 - 364 sider |
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Side xii
... GRAVE ( 1743 ) , 11. 28-44 , 56-84 , 750-767 WILLIAM WHITEHEAD ON RIDICULE ( 1743 ) , 11. 27-52 , 153-171 , 225-226 , 233-236 , 287-301 THE ENTHUSIAST ( 1754 ) 143 · 146 148 150 MARK AKENSIDE THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION ( 1744 ) , BOOK ...
... GRAVE ( 1743 ) , 11. 28-44 , 56-84 , 750-767 WILLIAM WHITEHEAD ON RIDICULE ( 1743 ) , 11. 27-52 , 153-171 , 225-226 , 233-236 , 287-301 THE ENTHUSIAST ( 1754 ) 143 · 146 148 150 MARK AKENSIDE THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION ( 1744 ) , BOOK ...
Side 3
... grave ; Close in dispute , but not tenacious ; tried By solemn reason , and let that decide ; Not prone to lust , revenge , or envious hate ; Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state ; Strangers to slander , and sworn foes to spite ...
... grave ; Close in dispute , but not tenacious ; tried By solemn reason , and let that decide ; Not prone to lust , revenge , or envious hate ; Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state ; Strangers to slander , and sworn foes to spite ...
Side 5
... dust , I'd have Few tears , but friendly , dropped into my grave ; Then would my exit so propitious be , All men would wish to live and die like me . DANIEL DEFOE FROM THE TRUE - BORN ENGLISHMAN The Romans JOHN POMFRET 5.
... dust , I'd have Few tears , but friendly , dropped into my grave ; Then would my exit so propitious be , All men would wish to live and die like me . DANIEL DEFOE FROM THE TRUE - BORN ENGLISHMAN The Romans JOHN POMFRET 5.
Side 15
... grave industrious were the same : All trades and places knew some cheat , No calling was without deceit . Thus every part was full of vice , Yet the whole mass a paradise : Flattered in peace , and feared in wars , They were th ' esteem ...
... grave industrious were the same : All trades and places knew some cheat , No calling was without deceit . Thus every part was full of vice , Yet the whole mass a paradise : Flattered in peace , and feared in wars , They were th ' esteem ...
Side 19
... graves open , and the bones arising , Flames all around them ! Hark , the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches ! Lively bright horror and amazing anguish Stare through their eyelids , while the living worm lies Gnawing within them ...
... graves open , and the bones arising , Flames all around them ! Hark , the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches ! Lively bright horror and amazing anguish Stare through their eyelids , while the living worm lies Gnawing within them ...
Innhold
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
AUGUSTUS MONTAGU TOPLADY auld auld lang syne bard beauty beneath blessed blest bliss breast breath charms clouds crown dear delight divine dread e'er earth eternal fair fame fancy fate fear Fingal flowers folly fools frae gale grace grave Grongar Hill hand happy hear heart Heaven hill human JOHN GILBERT COOPER king labour live Lubberkin lyre Matthew Prior mind moral murmurs Muse nature Nature's ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er Ossian pain passions peace plain pleasing pleasure poet poor praise pride proud rage raptures RICHARD JAGO rills rise round scene shade shine sigh sing skelpin smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spread spring swain sweet tears thee thine thou thought toil trembling truth Twas vale virtue voice wandering wave wild wind wings wretch wyllowe youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 183 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Side 218 - As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Side 185 - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Side 236 - Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to Thee for dress ; Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; Foul, I to the Fountain fly, Wash me, Saviour, or I die...
Side 143 - Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee. Leave, ah leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
Side 184 - Await alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Side 160 - How sleep the Brave T_TOW sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell, a weeping hermit, there...
Side 269 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense. Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Side 215 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Side 61 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying...