Poetry and Poets: A Collection of the Choicest Anecdotes Relative to the Poets of Every Age and Nation. With Specimens of Their Works and Sketches of Their Biography, Band 2Sherwood, Gilbert, & Piper, 1826 - 292 Seiten |
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Seite 153 - The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For, having lost but...
Seite 255 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point...
Seite 153 - But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
Seite 258 - There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, And fire out of his mouth devoured; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down; And darkness was under his feet.
Seite 243 - Nor yet quite deserted though lonely extended, For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,' The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
Seite 13 - Our Tragedies and Comedies (not without cause cried out against), observing rules neither of honest civility nor of skilful Poetry, excepting Gorboduc (again, I say, of those that I have seen), which notwithstanding, as it is full of stately speeches and well-sounding phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca's style, and as full of notable morality, which it doth most delightfully teach, and so obtain the very end of Poesy...
Seite 244 - With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts at deep midnight the torches are gleaming ; In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming ; Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.
Seite 196 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Seite 229 - To answer your question as to Mr. Hughes ; what he wanted in genius, he made up as an honest man ; but he was of the class you think him.
Seite 77 - The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear For twilight converse, arm in arm ; The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm. By Cherical's dark wandering streams, Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams...