Gifford's Baviad and Maeviad: Pasquin V. Faulder; Epistle to Peter Pindar; to which is Prefixed the Author's Memoir of His Own Life. Byron's English Bards and Scotch Reviewers

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"Proceedings on the trial of Robert Faulder, bookseller (one of forty against whom actions were brought for selling the Baviad) for publishing a libel on John William, alias Anthony Pasquin, esq.": p. [91]-128.

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Page 171 - Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Page 171 - 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...
Page 171 - 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 subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret, that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume.
Page 153 - 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...
Page 150 - 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. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame...
Page xxv - ... continue me at school for another year. Such liberality was not lost upon me ; I grew anxious to make the best return in my power, and I redoubled my diligence. Now, that I am sunk into indolence, I look back with some degree of scepticism to the exertions of that period.
Page 147 - 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...
Page 153 - 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
Page 150 - Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, 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.
Page 147 - twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. 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, who themselves are sore ; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.

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