The English Poets: Selections with Critical Introductions, Volume 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1905 - English poetry |
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Page 13
... thine own Horace , or Anacreon's lyre ; Warm thee by Pindar's fire : And though thy nerves be shrunk , and blood be cold , Ere years have made thee old , Strike that disdainful heat Throughout , to their defeat , As curious fools , and ...
... thine own Horace , or Anacreon's lyre ; Warm thee by Pindar's fire : And though thy nerves be shrunk , and blood be cold , Ere years have made thee old , Strike that disdainful heat Throughout , to their defeat , As curious fools , and ...
Page 14
... thine eyes , And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup , And I'll not look for wine . The thirst that from the soul doth rise , Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove's nectar sup , I would not change for thine ...
... thine eyes , And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup , And I'll not look for wine . The thirst that from the soul doth rise , Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove's nectar sup , I would not change for thine ...
Page 20
... thine are ) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses ' anvil , turn the same , And himself with it , that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel he may gain to scorn ; For a good poet's made , as well as born . And such wert thou ...
... thine are ) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses ' anvil , turn the same , And himself with it , that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel he may gain to scorn ; For a good poet's made , as well as born . And such wert thou ...
Page 57
... thine own tears ? O Punishment ! Then he that patiently Want's burden bears No burden bears , but is a king , a king . O sweet Content , O sweet , O sweet Content ! Work apace , apace , etc. LULLABY . [ From Patient Grissil . ] Golden ...
... thine own tears ? O Punishment ! Then he that patiently Want's burden bears No burden bears , but is a king , a king . O sweet Content , O sweet , O sweet Content ! Work apace , apace , etc. LULLABY . [ From Patient Grissil . ] Golden ...
Page 91
... thine ; Needs those songs must be thine own , And that one day will be known . That poor imputation , too , I myself do undergo : But it will appear , ere long , That ' twas Envy sought our wrong : Who at twice ten have sung more Than ...
... thine ; Needs those songs must be thine own , And that one day will be known . That poor imputation , too , I myself do undergo : But it will appear , ere long , That ' twas Envy sought our wrong : Who at twice ten have sung more Than ...
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Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Castara Catullus charm Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw crown death delight died dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers foes Giles Fletcher give glory grace Habington hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert heroic couplet Herrick Hesperides honour Hudibras Jonson King kiss light live Lord Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rose sacred satire shade shine sighs sing sleep song sonnet soul stars Sweet Spirit tears thee thine things thou shalt thought tree verse Waller wanton weep WILLIAM HABINGTON winds wings write youth
Popular passages
Page 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
Page 218 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 204 - I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature : So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.
Page 455 - A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Page 301 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Page 185 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 178 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!
Page 319 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.
Page 326 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 328 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not; in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks.