The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope ...: To which is Prefixed the Life of the Author

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Jones and Company, 1826 - 133 pages
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Page 14 - 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 53 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than Heaven pursue. What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives, T
Page 52 - Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. What's fame? a fancied life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
Page 53 - God loves from whole to parts ; but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds. Another still, and still another spreads : Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; His country next ; and next all human race ; Wide and. more wide, th...
Page 18 - Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen ; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes ; At every word a reputation dies.
Page 64 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying...
Page xxii - Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both excelled likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied, that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind, Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle.
Page 14 - As bodies perish through excess of blood. Others for language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress : Their praise is still — the style is excellent ; The sense they humbly take upon content.
Page xvi - Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise ; Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? Who would not weep if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals ? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers...
Page 19 - T' inclose the lock ; now joins it, to divide. Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd, A wretched sylph too fondly interpos'd ; Fate urg'd the shears, and cut the sylph in twain, (But airy substance soon unites again) The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, for ever, and for ever ! Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes, • And screams of horror rend th

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