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Page 72 - whispers through the trees ;' If crystal streams ' with pleasing murmurs creep," The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with 'sleep;' Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
Page 196 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Page 70 - Its gaudy colours spreads on every place ; The face of nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay ; But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon ; It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Page 61 - First follow Nature, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same: Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, One clear, unchang'd, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart, At once the source, and end, and test of Art. Art from that fund each just supply provides, Works without show, and without pomp presides: In some fair body thus th...
Page 67 - A little learning is a dangerous thing! Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.
Page 110 - twould a saint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;) " No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace " Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : " One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead— " And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.
Page 180 - They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. No place is sacred, not the church is free, Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, just at dinner-time.
Page 73 - 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.
Page 81 - Tis not enough your counsel still be true ; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do ; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Page 69 - The manners, passions, unities, what not? All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out. "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight; Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite. "Not so, by Heaven" (he answers in a rage), "Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage.