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

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C. Whittingham, 1822 - English poetry
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Page 10 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, ...
Page 100 - No flight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at words. A new and nobler way thou dost pursue, To make translations and translators too. They but preserve the ashes ; thou the flame, True to his sense, but truer to his fame.
Page 79 - Falkland, a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war than that single loss, i" must be most infamous and execrable to all posterity.
Page 116 - Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean's sons, By his old sire to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity ; Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold, His genuine and less guilty wealth to explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, And hatches plenty for th...
Page 99 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike; Alike...
Page 281 - Prostrate my contrite heart I rend, My God, my Father, and my Friend, Do not forsake me in my end.
Page 131 - Horace his wit and Virgil's state He did not steal, but emulate ; And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear...
Page 248 - At the moment in which he expired, he uttered, with an energy of voice, that expressed the most fervent devotion, two lines of his own version of Dies Ira; : My God, my father, and my friend, Do not forsake me in my end. He died in 1684 ; and was buried, with great pomp, in Westminster Abbey. His poetical character is given by Mr. Fenton :
Page 116 - 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'erflowing full.
Page 119 - With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet; But fear prevails and bids him trust his feet. So fast he flies that his reviewing eye Has lost the chasers, and his ear the cry; Exulting till he finds their nobler sense Their...

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