The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray, Thomas Parnell, William Collins, Matthew Green and Thomas Warton1883 |
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الصفحة
... kind of relationship to each other , and seem to gain a grace and a charm from the bond of fellowship that unites them . Four of the number were contem- poraries ; two were friends ; Parnell may be called an elder brother , for the ...
... kind of relationship to each other , and seem to gain a grace and a charm from the bond of fellowship that unites them . Four of the number were contem- poraries ; two were friends ; Parnell may be called an elder brother , for the ...
الصفحة 9
... kind offices of the poet and Dr. Heberden . The portraits of Gray and Mason now hang nearly side by side in the Combination Room of the College . In the spring of 1753 , he lost the mother whose tenderness he has embalmed , and 1756 was ...
... kind offices of the poet and Dr. Heberden . The portraits of Gray and Mason now hang nearly side by side in the Combination Room of the College . In the spring of 1753 , he lost the mother whose tenderness he has embalmed , and 1756 was ...
الصفحة 10
... not quite of the same kind , as a life spent in the midst of it . The power we have , when we will exert it 1 Nichols's " Illustrations of English Literature , " vi . 805 . over our own minds , joined to a little strength 10 GRAY .
... not quite of the same kind , as a life spent in the midst of it . The power we have , when we will exert it 1 Nichols's " Illustrations of English Literature , " vi . 805 . over our own minds , joined to a little strength 10 GRAY .
الصفحة 25
... kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? 1 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 ...
... kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? 1 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 ...
الصفحة 26
... kind , The pensive Selima , reclin'd , Gaz'd on the lake below . Her conscious tail her joy declar'd ; The fair round face , the snowy beard , The velvet of her paws , Her coat , that with the tortoise vies , Her ears of jet , and ...
... kind , The pensive Selima , reclin'd , Gaz'd on the lake below . Her conscious tail her joy declar'd ; The fair round face , the snowy beard , The velvet of her paws , Her coat , that with the tortoise vies , Her ears of jet , and ...
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Abra airy Amid ancient atque bards beauty Ben Jonson beneath blest bloom bower breast breathe bright charms Collins crown crown'd delight divine Eclogues eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers genius Glastonbury Abbey gleam glory glow golden Gothic grace Gray Greece green grove hail hand heart honour hues Isis Joseph Warton King King Arthur light lyre magic maid mind Muse Naiads numbers numina nymph o'er Oxford panegyric Parnell passions peace pensive Pindar plain poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope praise pride proud quæ Queen rage rapture rhyme rise round sacred scene shade shine sing smile soft solemn song soul sound Spenser Spleen stanza Stephen Duck strain stream sublime swain sweet thee Theocritus thine THOMAS WARTON thou thought throne toil towers truth vale verses Warton wave wild wing youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 70 - Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
الصفحة 29 - Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace ; Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave...
الصفحة 43 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a...
الصفحة 28 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
الصفحة 30 - The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue ; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th
الصفحة 68 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
الصفحة 69 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Blushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
الصفحة 67 - Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
الصفحة 59 - midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams ! Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet ; be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ! And hears their simple bell ! and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil...
الصفحة 42 - On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.