The New Oxford Book of Eighteenth Century VerseAnthologies of eighteenth-century verse have tended to confirm traditional notions of the period as one of untroubled elegance, urbanity, and decorum. Offering over 550 poems and extracts by more than 250 poets, The New Oxford Book of Eighteenth-Century Verse presents a truer picture of this age as a much less stable and decorous time. This extraordinarily comprehensive volume includes not only a generous selection of verse by such renowned poets as Swift, Pope, Johnson, Gray, Smart, Goldsmith, Cowper, Blake, and Burns, but also a large number of poems by lesser-known and previously ignored poets. Intermixing the familiar styles and preoccupations of polite taste with much less familiar verse from all social levels, it reveals the willingness of the century's poets to respond graphically, humorously, or unconventionally to all aspects of rural and urban life. Topics range from golf and hypnotism to amorous adventure and marital discord, from growing sensitivity to natural beauty to fear of the effects of the Industrial Revolution, and from the anguish of poverty and unemployment to animated political exchanges in the wake of the French Revolution. Taken together, these poems reveal that both unpredictability and familiarity played as significant a role as Augustan reason played in the world of eighteenth-century poetry. The anthology also includes a helpful introduction, notes, and a glossary. |
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Page 294
... Fervent , till quite o'erpowered the melting maid Faintly opposes . On the brink at last Arrived of giddy rapture , plunge not in Precipitant , but spare a virgin's pain . Oh ! spare a gentle virgin ! spare yourself !
... Fervent , till quite o'erpowered the melting maid Faintly opposes . On the brink at last Arrived of giddy rapture , plunge not in Precipitant , but spare a virgin's pain . Oh ! spare a gentle virgin ! spare yourself !
Page 484
Far as distress the soul can wound , ' Tis pain in each degree ; Bliss goes but to a certain bound , Beyond is agony . Take then this treacherous sense of mine , Which dooms me still to smart ; Which pleasure can to pain refine ...
Far as distress the soul can wound , ' Tis pain in each degree ; Bliss goes but to a certain bound , Beyond is agony . Take then this treacherous sense of mine , Which dooms me still to smart ; Which pleasure can to pain refine ...
Page 675
... doctor tease To name the nameless ever - new disease ; Who with mock patience dire complaints endure , Which real pain , and that alone , can cure ; How would ye bear in real pain to lie , Despised , neglected , left alone to die ?
... doctor tease To name the nameless ever - new disease ; Who with mock patience dire complaints endure , Which real pain , and that alone , can cure ; How would ye bear in real pain to lie , Despised , neglected , left alone to die ?
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Contents
JOHN POMFRET 16671702 | 1 |
THOMAS DURFEY 16531723 | 5 |
JOHN PHILIPS 16761709 | 6 |
Copyright | |
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