English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire. Ode to the Land of the Gaul. Sketch from Private Life. Windsor Poetics, Etc

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Le Roy-Berger, 1822 - 83 Seiten
 

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Seite 54 - 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...
Seite 20 - Conceive the bard the hero of the story. Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here, To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. If Inspiration should her aid refuse To him who takes a pixy for a muse, Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass The bard who soars to elegise an ass.
Seite 9 - 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...
Seite 15 - And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Miller may combine To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade.
Seite 15 - Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; A mighty mixture of the great and base.
Seite 19 - Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of "an idiot boy...
Seite 9 - A mind well skilled to find or forge a fault, A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; To JEFFREY go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit, Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling— pass your proper jest, And stand a critic hated yet caressed.
Seite 54 - Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October, 1806, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than sub dued.
Seite 8 - Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.
Seite 78 - FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies ; Between them stands another sceptred thing — It moves, it reigns — in all but name, a king : Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, — In him the double tyrant starts to life : Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain, Each royal vampire wakes to life again.

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