The British Satirist: Comprising the Best Satires of the Most Celebrated Poets, from Pope to Byron. Accompanied by Original Critical Notices of the Authors
C. P. Fessenden, 1831 - Satire, English - 388 pages
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Page 75 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 49 - Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries attempt the mercies of the skies? Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain.
Page 129 - How, with less reading than makes felons scape, Less human genius than God gives an ape, Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece, A...
Page xxxvii - Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring,* And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science...
Page 44 - Now drops at once the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,. The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
Page 161 - Night primeval, and of Chaos old ! Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sickening stars fade off the ethereal plain ; As Argus
Page xxviii - Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose...
Page 75 - Though equal to all things, for all things unfit : Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot too cool ; for a drudge disobedient ; And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir — To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Page 45 - Condemn'da needy supplicant to wait; While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.