The British Poets: Including Translations ... (Google eBook)

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C. Whittingham, 1822 - English poetry
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Page 234 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Page 214 - Here strip, my children! here at once leap in, Here prove who best can dash through thick and thin, And who the most in love of dirt excel, Or dark dexterity of groping well.
Page 53 - Indebted to no prince or peer alive, Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,* 70 If I would scribble rather than repose. Years following years, steal something every day; At last they steal us from ourselves away ; In one our frolics, one amusements end, In one a mistress drops, in one a friend...
Page 47 - But fill their purse, our poets' work is done, Alike to them by pathos or by pun. O, you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys On fame's mad voyage, by the wind of praise, With what a shifting gale your course you ply, For ever sunk too low, or borne too high ! Who pants for glory finds but short repose ; 300 A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
Page 268 - Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying Rain-bows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
Page 201 - O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.
Page 254 - For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it: So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Page 150 - He was not without hopes, that, by manifesting the dulness of those who had only malice to recommend them, either the booksellers would not find their account in employing them, or the men themselves, when discovered, want courage to proceed in so unlawful an occupation. This it was that gave birth to the
Page 30 - NOT to admire, is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so.' Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.
Page 40 - Who now reads Cowley ? if he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit; Forgot his Epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.

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