The Correspondence of Gray, Walpole, West and Ashton (1734-1771) Including More Than One Hundred Letters Now First Published, Chronologically Arranged and Ed., with Introduction, Notes, and Index, Volumen 2

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Paget Jackson Toynbee
Clarendon Press, 1915

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Página 58 - But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest, Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive, kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? A solitary fly ! Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display : On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — We frolic, while 'tis May.
Página 67 - The hapless nymph with wonder saw: A whisker first, and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize : What female heart can gold despise?
Página 233 - I waked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.
Página 58 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.
Página 28 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Página 27 - I have this to say: the language of the age is never the language of poetry; except among the French, whose verse, where the thought or image does not support it, differs in nothing from prose. Our poetry, on the contrary, has a language peculiar to itself...
Página 66 - Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared, The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet and emerald eyes, She saw, and purred applause.
Página 233 - I sat down, and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate. The work grew on my hands, and I grew fond of it— add, that I was very glad to think of anything, rather than politics.
Página 112 - Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
Página 57 - SPRING LO ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers And wake the purple year ! The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of Spring : While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.

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