ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
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الصفحة 258 - Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change ? Why, with the time, do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, • That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
الصفحة 246 - ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom— Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
الصفحة 257 - Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood ? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good ? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own: I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown; Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad and in their badness reign.
الصفحة 326 - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain, Or forest, by slow stream or pebbly spring, Or chasms, and watery depths ; all these have vanished ; They live no longer in the faith of reason...
الصفحة 22 - OH, talk not to me of a name great in story ; The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
الصفحة 144 - Remember all who love thee, All who are loved by thee ; Pray, too, for those who hate thee, If any such there be ; Then for thyself in meekness, A blessing humbly claim, And link with each petition Thy great Redeemer's name.
الصفحة 258 - If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men.
الصفحة 201 - Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
الصفحة 39 - I am the more confirmed in this by having lately gone over some of our classics, particularly Pope, whom I tried in this way, — I took Moore's poems and my own and some others, and went over them side by side with Pope's, and I was really astonished (I ought not to have been so) and mortified at the ineffable distance in point of sense, harmony, effect, and even Imagination, passion and Invention, between the little Queen Anne's man, and us of the Lower Empire. Depend upon it, it is all Horace...
الصفحة 134 - Of troublous and distress'd mortality, That thus make way unto the ugly birth Of their own sorrows, and do still beget Affliction upon imbecility ; Yet, seeing thus the course of things must run, He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. And whilst distraught Ambition compasses And is encompassed ; whilst as Craft deceives And is deceived ; whilst man doth ransack man, And builds on blood, and rises by distress ; And th...