The Seasons, with the life of the author, by S. Johnson1836 |
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Side v
... once too well known . Why the dedications to WINTER and the other Seasons , con- trarily to custom , are left out in the collected works , the reader may inquire . The next year ( 1727 ) he distinguished himself by three publications of ...
... once too well known . Why the dedications to WINTER and the other Seasons , con- trarily to custom , are left out in the collected works , the reader may inquire . The next year ( 1727 ) he distinguished himself by three publications of ...
Side viii
... once expressed it in a poetical epistle sent to Italy , of which however he abated the value by trans- lating some of the lines into his epistle to Arbuthnot . About this time the act was passed for licensing plays , of which the first ...
... once expressed it in a poetical epistle sent to Italy , of which however he abated the value by trans- lating some of the lines into his epistle to Arbuthnot . About this time the act was passed for licensing plays , of which the first ...
Side x
... once an opportunity of recording the fraternal kindness of Thomson , and reflecting on the friendly assistance of Mr. Boswell , from whom I received it . My dear Sister , Hagley , in Worcestershire , October the 4th , 1747 . " I thought ...
... once an opportunity of recording the fraternal kindness of Thomson , and reflecting on the friendly assistance of Mr. Boswell , from whom I received it . My dear Sister , Hagley , in Worcestershire , October the 4th , 1747 . " I thought ...
Side xii
... once reading to Dodington , who , being himself a reader eminently elegant , was so much provoked by his odd utterance , that he snatched the paper from his hands , and told him that he did not understand his own verses . The biographer ...
... once reading to Dodington , who , being himself a reader eminently elegant , was so much provoked by his odd utterance , that he snatched the paper from his hands , and told him that he did not understand his own verses . The biographer ...
Side xiii
... once , no rule can be given why one should be mentioned before another ; yet the memory wants the help of order , and the curiosity is not excited by suspense or expectation . His diction is in the highest degree florid and luxu- riant ...
... once , no rule can be given why one should be mentioned before another ; yet the memory wants the help of order , and the curiosity is not excited by suspense or expectation . His diction is in the highest degree florid and luxu- riant ...
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The Seasons, with the Life of the Author, by S. Johnson James Thomson Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2015 |
The Seasons, with the Life of the Author, by S. Johnson James Thomson Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2018 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Aaron Hill amid Apennine Autumn beam beauty beneath blank verse blast blaze bliss bloom bosom boundless breast breath breeze bright CASTLE OF INDOLENCE clouds deep delight descends dreadful E'en earth ether ev'ry exalts fair fair brow fancy fierce flame flocks flood gale gentle gloom glowing grace grove happy heart heaven herds hills JAMES THOMSON light luxury matchless maze mind mingled mix'd mountains Muse Nature Nature's night o'er passions peace plain poison'd pomp pride race rage rais'd rapture rills rise roar rocks roll round rous'd rural scene season shade shake shining shoot Sir George Lyttelton Sir Spencer Compton smile snow soft song Sophonisba soul spreads Spring storm stream stretch'd swain sweet swelling swift tempest tender thee Thomson thou thought thunder toil vale vex'd virtue walk waste wave wide wild winds wing Winter wintry wonders woods youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 150 - Works in the secret deep, shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; Feeds every creature, hurls the tempest forth, And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.
Side 84 - All ether softening, sober Evening takes Her wonted station in the middle air; A thousand shadows at her beck. First this She sends on earth ; then that, of deeper dye, Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round, To close the face of things. A fresher gale Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn ; While the quail clamours for his running mate.
Side 17 - In all the colours of the flushing year, By Nature's swift and secret-working hand, The garden glows, and fills the liberal air With lavish fragrance; while the promis'd fruit Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd, Within its crimson folds.
Side 151 - The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills, And let me catch it as I muse along.
Side xiv - Father of light and life, Thou Good Supreme ! O teach me what is good ; teach me Thyself ! Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, From every low pursuit ; and feed my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure, Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss...
Side 148 - Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth Of heaven and earth ! awakening Nature hears The new-creating word, and starts to life In every heighten'd form ; from pain and death For ever free.
Side 150 - And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter awful THOU ! with clouds and storms Around THEE thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd.
Side 148 - See here thy pictur'd life ; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength > Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.
Side 151 - A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, — whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him, — whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints, Ye forests, bend ; ye harvests, wave to Him • Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Side 131 - With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd, How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep retir'd distress. How many stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life, One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate...