Sortes Horatianae: A Poetical Review of Poetical Talent, with Notes |
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Page 3
A Persius, too, endued with all her fire, Swept, though with hand uncouth, his
angry lyre; Compress'd the efforts of his manly pow'rs, And gave the thorns, but
cast away the flow'rs. 20 Nor less that pupil of the sterner school, Fraught with ...
A Persius, too, endued with all her fire, Swept, though with hand uncouth, his
angry lyre; Compress'd the efforts of his manly pow'rs, And gave the thorns, but
cast away the flow'rs. 20 Nor less that pupil of the sterner school, Fraught with ...
Page 9
Have they not felt, as well, his hapless doom, Who mourns his Thyrza, shrouded
in her tomb; Who weaves the fun'ral wreath, imbued with tears, As the sad tribute
to succeeding years; 100 And hangs his lyre upon the cypress tree That shades ...
Have they not felt, as well, his hapless doom, Who mourns his Thyrza, shrouded
in her tomb; Who weaves the fun'ral wreath, imbued with tears, As the sad tribute
to succeeding years; 100 And hangs his lyre upon the cypress tree That shades ...
Page 45
What daring hand * has seized the trembling lyre, Flushed with the hopes of all a
Poet's fire, To sing thee, Woman lovely, gentle, kind, And paint the wonders of thy
form and mind! 370 Here was a theme to warm the kindling Muse, And all the ...
What daring hand * has seized the trembling lyre, Flushed with the hopes of all a
Poet's fire, To sing thee, Woman lovely, gentle, kind, And paint the wonders of thy
form and mind! 370 Here was a theme to warm the kindling Muse, And all the ...
Page 120
Here, Satire, then we pause; my descant sung, My mirror clouded, and my lyre
unstrung ; , 970 I, whom nor politics, nor party rage, Nor darker Envy, forc'd upon
the stage, Will keep my hard, rebellious spirit down, Stay the rude laugh, and ...
Here, Satire, then we pause; my descant sung, My mirror clouded, and my lyre
unstrung ; , 970 I, whom nor politics, nor party rage, Nor darker Envy, forc'd upon
the stage, Will keep my hard, rebellious spirit down, Stay the rude laugh, and ...
Page 124
1030 Farewell! then, Muse, who still hast urg'd mine ire T'avenge the cause of
thine insulted lyre; Farewell! thou joy of many a weary hour, My bosom thanks
thee for thy kindling pow'r; Tarewell!—ye rhymsters, who, with idle speed, Tead
but to ...
1030 Farewell! then, Muse, who still hast urg'd mine ire T'avenge the cause of
thine insulted lyre; Farewell! thou joy of many a weary hour, My bosom thanks
thee for thy kindling pow'r; Tarewell!—ye rhymsters, who, with idle speed, Tead
but to ...
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admirable appear applause attempt Author Bard beauties Book breast Busby cause charm claim Commentator Critics dare dark delight divine English equal errors ev'ry excellent fair fame Fancy fear feelings fire foes friends Genius gentle give grace hand head heart honor hope hour Lady late laws learned leave light live Lord lyre meaning merits mind Muse nature never night NOTES numbers o'er once pass Play Poem Poet poetic Poetry pow'r praise present printed produced prose prove reader reason Reviewers rhyme Right rise round sacred scene sense shine sing smiles smooth soft song soul stand strain style sweet tale talents taste tell thee theme thine thou thought translation true Truth turn verse Virtue wild wonders write youth
Popular passages
Page 15 - The next but swept a lone hill-side, Where heath and fern were waving wide...
Page 91 - From the lofty elder-tree ! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly : one might think, From the motions that are made Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or...
Page 91 - Oh ! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly ! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey : — with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush ; But she, God love her ! feared to brush The dust from off its wings.
Page 103 - From the pale willow snatch'd the treasure, And swept it with a kindred measure, Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, Awakening at the inspired strain, Deem'd their own Shakspeare lived again.
Page 57 - WHAT is truth ?" said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness, and count it a bondage to fix a belief, affecting free-will in thinking as well as in acting. And though the sects of philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain discoursing wits which are of the same veins, though there be not so much blood in them as was in those of the ancients.
Page 16 - The falcon, from her cairn on high, Cast on the rout a wondering eye, Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen.
Page 2 - On ne fut plus ni fat ni sot impunément ; Et malheur à tout nom qui, propre à la censure, Put entrer dans un vers sans rompre la mesure ! Perse, en ses vers obscurs , mais serrés et pressans, Affecta d'enfermer moins de mots que de sens.
Page 50 - But Shadwell never deviates into sense. Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through and make a lucid interval ; But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray, His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Page 45 - I'd like to have left out his poetry, Forgot by all almost as well as me. Sometimes he has some humour, never wit. And if it rarely, very rarely hit, 'Tis under...
Page 91 - ORIEVED for Buonaparte, with a vain And an unthinking grief ! The tenderest mood Of that Man's mind — what can it be ? what food Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 'Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.