The miscellaneous prose works of sir Walter Scott

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Page 168 - Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower...
Page 314 - To take up half on trust, and half to try, Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry, Both knave and fool, the merchant we may call, To pay great sums, and to compound the small, Memoirs of My Life and Writings For who would break with Heaven, and would not break for all?
Page 187 - His style is boisterous and rough-hewn, his rhyme incorrigibly lewd, and his numbers perpetually harsh and ill-sounding. The little talent which he has, is fancy. He sometimes labours with a thought ; but, with the pudder he makes to bring it into the world...
Page 309 - Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.
Page 473 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 119 - He, who dares love, and for that love must die, And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.
Page 123 - I boldly answer him that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what is true, or exceeding probable : but that he may let himself loose to visionary objects, and to the representation of such things as, depending not on sense and therefore not to be comprehended by knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination.
Page 288 - Th' unconscious stream sleeps o'er thee like a lake. " Next plung'da feeble, but a desperate pack, With each a sickly brother at his back : Sons of a day ! just buoyant on the flood, Then number'd with the puppies in the mud.
Page 109 - Poets like lovers should be bold and dare, They spoil their business with an over-care. And he who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence.
Page 273 - O early ripe! to thy abundant Store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Thro' the harsh cadence of a rugged line: A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betray'd. Thy generous fruits, tho...

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