The Ruminator: Containing a Series of Moral, Critical, and Sentimental Essays, Volumen 2Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1813 |
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Página 3
... light on the dullest subject . I have been in the habit of contemplating beings so gifted , with a peculiar degree of veneration , beyond perhaps what the sternness of a cold philo- sophy will allow . Their powers seem to be out of all ...
... light on the dullest subject . I have been in the habit of contemplating beings so gifted , with a peculiar degree of veneration , beyond perhaps what the sternness of a cold philo- sophy will allow . Their powers seem to be out of all ...
Página 9
... light anew reveal'd ; Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field , And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind , Ten thousand glorious systems would he build , Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind ; " Yet with the clouds they fled ...
... light anew reveal'd ; Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field , And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind , Ten thousand glorious systems would he build , Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind ; " Yet with the clouds they fled ...
Página 11
... Light simple instrument - yet bound Within like slender space the breath did once inspire Of Goldsmith , of Rousseau , the happy groups around ! " C. L. Sept. 4 , 1808 . " III . ON MUSIC . " CLEMENTI ! Power there is in charming sounds ...
... Light simple instrument - yet bound Within like slender space the breath did once inspire Of Goldsmith , of Rousseau , the happy groups around ! " C. L. Sept. 4 , 1808 . " III . ON MUSIC . " CLEMENTI ! Power there is in charming sounds ...
Página 19
... a due sense of mortification , that my shadowy conceptions are perpetually eluding my grasp at the instant of embrace . I know not , whether I am more ventu- rous than some others , and follow delusive lights . THE RUMINATOR . 19.
... a due sense of mortification , that my shadowy conceptions are perpetually eluding my grasp at the instant of embrace . I know not , whether I am more ventu- rous than some others , and follow delusive lights . THE RUMINATOR . 19.
Página 20
... lights . The generality of authors , I observe , cannot hazard a step out of the beaten track . They follow their ... light , my time is too much occupied , and my taste is rendered too keen to put up with these hacknied strumpets ...
... lights . The generality of authors , I observe , cannot hazard a step out of the beaten track . They follow their ... light , my time is too much occupied , and my taste is rendered too keen to put up with these hacknied strumpets ...
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admirable appeared beauty born bosom Capel Lofft Castara censure character charms clouds contempt Countess of Westmoreland Cowper daughter death delight died dread Earl elegant Elegy enjoyment Epigram essays excellent exertions expressed exquisite fame fancy feelings fortè FRANCIS QUARLES genius George Wither glory Habington happy hath heart heaven Henry honour hope human imagination Inner Temple intellectual John Johnson Lady Eleanor Brandon learned letter literary living LOFFT Lord Clifford memory merit Michael Drayton mind moral Muse nature never noble numbers o'er original passions perhaps person pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Pope possessed praise Quà quæ Quarles readers recollect RUMINATOR sæpe says scenery Scottish highlands sensibility sentiments song SONNET soul Sperchius spirit sublime supposed sweet Talbot talents thee Thomas Habington thou thought tion translation truth umbris verse virtue virtuous wild William Habington Worcestershire write
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Página 163 - I never framed a wish, or formed a plan, That flattered me with hopes of earthly bliss, But there I laid the scene. There early strayed My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free. My very dreams were rural, rural too...
Página 47 - O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o...
Página 309 - exclaims the Lance; 'Bear me to the heart of France,' Is the longing of the Shield; Tell thy name, thou trembling field; Field of death, where'er thou be, Groan thou with our victory ! Happy day, and mighty hour...
Página 43 - FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro...
Página 55 - By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath : Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, Or whom she lifted up into the throne Of high renown ; but, as a living death, So, dead alive, of life he drew the breath.
Página 270 - It gave me inexpressible pleasure to find myself in the midst of so noble an amphitheatre, almost encircled by the vast regions of Asia, which has ever been esteemed the nurse of sciences, the inventress of delightful and useful arts...
Página 9 - For oft the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd Beneath the sleeping embers, mounted fast, And all its native light anew reveal'd: Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field, And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind, Ten thousand glorious systems would he build, Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind; But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind.
Página 58 - No towns, ne realms, cities, ne strongest tower, But all, perforce, must yield unto his power. His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, And in his hand, a dreadful sight to see...
Página 56 - His scalp all piled,1 and he with eld forelore, His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath ; For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.
Página 57 - Crookbacked he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, With old lame bones that rattled by his side, His scalp all pilled and he with eld forlore; His withered fist still knocking at Death's door, Fumbling and drivelling as he draws his breath; For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.