Imagination and Fancy: Or, Selections from the English Poets, Illustrative of Those First Requisites of Their Art; with Markings of the Best Passages, Critical Notices of the Writers, and an Essay in Answer to the Question, "What is Poetry?"
Wiley and Putnam, 1845 - 255 من الصفحات
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Agnes alliteration angels Archimago Ariel Ariosto Beaumont and Fletcher beauty Ben Jonson breath Caliban charm Chaucer Christabel Coleridge dance Dante delight divine doth dreadful dream earth enchanted exquisite eyes Faerie Faerie Queene fair fairy fancy fear feeling fire flowers genius gentle golden goodly grace hast hath head hear heard heart heaven Hecate imagination lady light live look lord Lycidas Macbeth Mammon melancholy Milton mind moon Morpheus mortal narrative poetry nature never night o'er Ovid pain painted Painter passage passion poem poet poetical poetry Porphyro Priam queen reader rhyme round satyrs sense Shakspeare sing sleep soft song soul sound Spenser spirit sprite stanza sweet Sycorax Tamburlaine tears thee Theoph thine things thou art thought tion Titania Titian tree truth unto verse versification voice wanton wind wings witch wood word writing young
الصفحة 265 - Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears: "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
الصفحة 324 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
الصفحة 345 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
الصفحة 257 - Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook: And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In scepter'd pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
الصفحة 247 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks,* and wanton* wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
الصفحة 249 - Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses...
الصفحة 299 - Like a poet hidden in the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. Like a high-born maiden in a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower. Like a glow-worm golden in a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view.
الصفحة 172 - That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
الصفحة 181 - That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic ; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house : I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door.