English bards, and Scotch reviewers: a satire |
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Página 8
... thou daily raise ! How frequent is thy use , how small thy praise ! Condemned at length to be forgotten quite , With all the pages which ' twas thine to write . But thou , at least , mine own especial pen ! Once laid aside but now ...
... thou daily raise ! How frequent is thy use , how small thy praise ! Condemned at length to be forgotten quite , With all the pages which ' twas thine to write . But thou , at least , mine own especial pen ! Once laid aside but now ...
Página 16
... thou , 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 ...
... thou , 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 ...
Página 18
... thou doomed the last of all thy race ! Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence , Illustrious conqueror of common sense ! Now , last and greatest , Madoc spreads his sails , Cacique in Mexico , and Prince in Wales ; Tells us strange ...
... thou doomed the last of all thy race ! Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence , Illustrious conqueror of common sense ! Now , last and greatest , Madoc spreads his sails , Cacique in Mexico , and Prince in Wales ; Tells us strange ...
Página 19
... Thou still wilt verse - ward plod thy weary way ; If still in Berkley Ballads most uncivil , Thou wilt devote old women to the devil * , The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue : « God help thee , » SOUTHEY , and thy readers too f ...
... Thou still wilt verse - ward plod thy weary way ; If still in Berkley Ballads most uncivil , Thou wilt devote old women to the devil * , The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue : « God help thee , » SOUTHEY , and thy readers too f ...
Página 21
... thou ! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand , By gibb'ring spectres hailed , thy kindred band ; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page , To please the females of our modest age , All hail , M. P. ! * from whose infernal ...
... thou ! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand , By gibb'ring spectres hailed , thy kindred band ; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page , To please the females of our modest age , All hail , M. P. ! * from whose infernal ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todo
Términos y frases comunes
ARTHUR'S seat Bard beauties Behold blest boast BOWLES BOWLES's Caledonia's CAMOENS CAPEL LOFFT CARLISLE CATULLUS Condemned COTTLE Critics daily prints damned dare display dull Dunciad E'en Edinburgh Review ENGLISH BARDS Epic fame feel follies fools genius GIFFORD HAFIZ hail HALLAM hallowed hath heroes HOLLAND's honour hope inspiration JEFFREY JEFFREY'S Joan of Arc Juvenal labour LAMB LITTLE'S Lord Lord CARLISLE Lord Fanny Lordship lyre Lyrical Ballads mighty mind Minstrel Muse night numbers o'er once perchance pistol Pixies poem Poesy Poet's poetry POPE praise Prince prose published resign rhyme Satire Satirist scenes SCOTCH REVIEWERS scrawl scribbler SKEFFINGTON sleep Sleeping Beauties song Sonnets sons soul SOUTHEY SOUTHEY's spare Spirit spurn Stanza STOTT strain STRANGFORD taste Thalaba themes thine thing thou throng thy muse thy pen Tolbooth traduce Triumphs Tweed verse William of Deloraine worthy write yield
Pasajes populares
Página 51 - 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.
Página 1 - Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers ; I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Página 50 - 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.
Página 16 - 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.
Página 16 - ... 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 : Still...
Página 9 - Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.
Página 10 - A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit ; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Página 50 - 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...
Página 19 - Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double : Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?
Página 11 - 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.