What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Addison admired Aella Akenside ancient antiquity architecture ballads bards beauty blank verse Byron Castle of Otranto Chatterton Chaucer classical Collins critics death dramatic Dryden edition eighteenth century Elegy England English poetry Essay Faerie Queene fiction forest French Gaelic garden genius German ghost Goethe Gothic Gothic architecture Gray Gray's Grongar Hill heroic Highlands Homer imagination imitations Johnson Joseph Warton language Leasowes letters Lewis literary literature MacPherson's manner manuscript Mason mediaeval melancholy Middle Ages Milton Minstrel modern Monk muse Mysteries of Udolpho nature night old English original Ossian passage passion Percy Percy's pieces poetic poets Pope Pope's popular preface prose published reader Reliques revival rhyme romantic movement romanticism Rowley poems says Scott sentiment Shakspere Shenstone song Spenser Spenserian spirit stanza story style taste Thomas Warton Thomson thought tion tragedy translation Walpole Walpole's wild words Wordsworth writes written wrote
Page 147 - Phlegra with the heroic race were joined That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mixed with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son Begirt with British and Armoric knights ; And all who since, baptized or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia.
Page 275 - In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. ' His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. ' Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out his bonny blue een : Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
Page 157 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page 121 - His Gardens next your admiration call, On ev'ry side you look, behold the Wall! No pleasing Intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene; Grove nods at grove, each Alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other.
Page 131 - Whether to plant a walk in undulating curves, and to place a bench at every turn where there is an object to catch the view; to make water run where it will be heard, and to stagnate where it will be seen...
Page 93 - It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground; And there a season atween June and May, Half...
Page 236 - I waked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. In the evening I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate.
Page 274 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 113 - The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.