The English Poets, Volume 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 - English poetry |
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Page vi
... Praise of Fortune ( from Old Fortunatus ) Rustic Song ( from The Sun's Darling ) JOHN FORD ( 1586-1640 ? ) • 34 · 34 ... praise of Spenser • • A lament for his friend · . IV . Minto 60 63 63 · 64 W. T. Arnold 65 · 71 K X X X * KOR • 72 ...
... Praise of Fortune ( from Old Fortunatus ) Rustic Song ( from The Sun's Darling ) JOHN FORD ( 1586-1640 ? ) • 34 · 34 ... praise of Spenser • • A lament for his friend · . IV . Minto 60 63 63 · 64 W. T. Arnold 65 · 71 K X X X * KOR • 72 ...
Page vii
... Praise of his Mistress · ΙΟΙ • 102 . 103 Prof. J. W. Hales 104 106 • Prof. J. W. Hales 108 • . 109 109 Edmund W. Gosse III 115 . 115 116 • 117 · 118 · 118 · 119 119 120 • 121 · 122 • 122 123 • PAGE • 164 165 165 166 · 167 168 CONTENTS .
... Praise of his Mistress · ΙΟΙ • 102 . 103 Prof. J. W. Hales 104 106 • Prof. J. W. Hales 108 • . 109 109 Edmund W. Gosse III 115 . 115 116 • 117 · 118 · 118 · 119 119 120 • 121 · 122 • 122 123 • PAGE • 164 165 165 166 · 167 168 CONTENTS .
Page xi
... Praise of the Thames Against Love • Song from The Sophy Extract from The Elegy on Cowley THOMAS STANLEY ( 1625-1678 ) • 274 • 274 275 • 275 276 277 • 277 Edmund W. Gosse 279 • 281 282 • 283 283 284 Edmund W. Gosse 286 Celia Singing ...
... Praise of the Thames Against Love • Song from The Sophy Extract from The Elegy on Cowley THOMAS STANLEY ( 1625-1678 ) • 274 • 274 275 • 275 276 277 • 277 Edmund W. Gosse 279 • 281 282 • 283 283 284 Edmund W. Gosse 286 Celia Singing ...
Page 2
... century , who in many respects ( not including creative gifts ) so strangely resembles him , he loved to measure and qualify even the praise which came warmest from his heart . In order to judge of 2 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... century , who in many respects ( not including creative gifts ) so strangely resembles him , he loved to measure and qualify even the praise which came warmest from his heart . In order to judge of 2 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Page 3
... praise which from Jonson weighs heaviest - the praise of Shakspere's art - was precisely that of which many generations delighting in the poet's ' native woodnotes wild ' failed to understand the meaning . As a matter of course , Jonson ...
... praise which from Jonson weighs heaviest - the praise of Shakspere's art - was precisely that of which many generations delighting in the poet's ' native woodnotes wild ' failed to understand the meaning . As a matter of course , Jonson ...
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Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley crown death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson King Lady light live Lord lost Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise reign rose sacred shade shalt shepherds shine sighs sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep winds wings write youth
Popular passages
Page 14 - DRINK to me only with 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 337 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
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 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?
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 454 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.
Page 311 - And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus
Page 357 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.
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 20 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part.