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ancient antiquity appeared ballads beauty called Castle century character Chatterton classical collection Collins copy critics death early edition eighteenth century England English Essay expression feeling French garden genius German give Gothic Gray Gray's hand Homer imagination imitations Italy John Johnson kind language learned less letters Lewis lines literary literature London manner manuscript mention Middle Milton mind movement nature never night original Ossian passage Percy perhaps pieces play poems poetic poetry poets Pope popular present printed published Queene reader Reliques Robin Hood romantic romanticism Rowley says Scott Seasons seems seen Shakspere Shenstone song Spenser spirit stanza story style taste thing Thomas Thomson thought tion translation true turn verse volumes Walpole Warton whole wild writing written wrote young
Page 117 - His gardens next your admiration call, On every side you look, behold the wall! No pleasing intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene; Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other.
Page 269 - In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. ' His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. ' Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out his bonny blue een : Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
Page 127 - Whether to plant a walk in undulating curves, and to place a bench at every turn where there is an object to catch the view; to make water run where it will be heard, and to stagnate where it will be seen...
Page 301 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls : and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook, there, its lonely head : the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waved round his head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers.
Page 91 - It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground; And there a season atween June and May, Half...
Page 230 - I waked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. In the evening I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate.
Page 109 - The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Page 143 - Phlegra with the heroic race were joined That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mixed with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son Begirt with British and Armoric knights ; And all who since, baptized or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia.
Page 39 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Page 293 - I do not think that there is an able Writer in verse of the present day who would not be proud to acknowledge his obligations to the Reliques ; I know that it is so with my friends ; and, for myself, I am happy in this occasion to make a public avowal of my own.