The Devil's Spadeful; a Traditional Poem

Samuel Danks, 1839 - 36 Seiten

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Seite viii - The sound must seem an echo to the sense : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar : When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow ; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Seite vii - Tis strange, — but true ; for truth is always strange ; Stranger than fiction : if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange ; How differently the world would men behold ! How oft would vice and virtue places change I The new world would be nothing to the old, If some Columbus of the moral seas Would show mankind their souls
Seite vi - twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment ? No: as soon Seek roses in December — ice in June ; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore ; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.
Seite vi - ... 619. Love of Literature. Dr. Johnson was of opinion that the happiest, as well as the most virtuous, persons were to be found amongst those who united with a business or profession a love of literature. 620. Marriage. — Choice of a Wife. He was constantly earnest with his friends, when they had thoughts of marriage, to look out for a religious wife. " A principle of honour or fear of the world...
Seite 36 - E'en to a deil, To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me, And hear us squeel I Great is thy power, and great thy fame ; Far kenn'd and noted is thy name : And though yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far : And, faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor scaur. Whyles ranging like a roaring lion, For prey a' holes and corners tryin': Whylesonthestrong-wing'd tempest flyin', Tirlin' the kirks ; Whyles in the human bosom pryin', Unseen thou lurks.

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