Literary Leaves, เล่มที่ 1Thacker & Company, 1840 |
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ผลการค้นหา 6 - 10 จาก 52
หน้า 46
... sense than I could do in six . " Ugo Foscolo , in his elegant Essay on Petrarch , informs us , that if the manuscripts did not still exist , it would be impossible to imagine or believe the unwearied pains this poet has bestowed on the ...
... sense than I could do in six . " Ugo Foscolo , in his elegant Essay on Petrarch , informs us , that if the manuscripts did not still exist , it would be impossible to imagine or believe the unwearied pains this poet has bestowed on the ...
หน้า 49
... sense of my faults , " said he , " first made me correct ; besides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write . " Moore , whose own poetry , glowing as it is , bears internal evidence of great care , assures us in his Life of ...
... sense of my faults , " said he , " first made me correct ; besides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write . " Moore , whose own poetry , glowing as it is , bears internal evidence of great care , assures us in his Life of ...
หน้า 74
... sense , they say that he has no memory ; and when I complain of this defect of mine they reprove me , and do not think I am in earnest in accus- ing myself of being a fool ; for they do not discern the difference betwixt memory and ...
... sense , they say that he has no memory ; and when I complain of this defect of mine they reprove me , and do not think I am in earnest in accus- ing myself of being a fool ; for they do not discern the difference betwixt memory and ...
หน้า 75
... sense of what he read . Rousseau repeatedly complains of his want of memory . But he exagge- rated the defect ; for no man with such a feeble memory as he represents his own to have been , could have gathered and retained a fiftieth ...
... sense of what he read . Rousseau repeatedly complains of his want of memory . But he exagge- rated the defect ; for no man with such a feeble memory as he represents his own to have been , could have gathered and retained a fiftieth ...
หน้า 87
... sense . Pitt's Translation of Vida's Art of Poetry . DOCTOR Johnson has remarked , that " the notion of imitative metre , and the desire of discovering frequent adaptations of the sound to the sense , have produced many wild conceits ...
... sense . Pitt's Translation of Vida's Art of Poetry . DOCTOR Johnson has remarked , that " the notion of imitative metre , and the desire of discovering frequent adaptations of the sound to the sense , have produced many wild conceits ...
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admiration amongst Anna Seward Atossa beauty Bolingbroke breast breath bright calm Chalkhill character Charlotte Smith charm cheerful Clearchus clouds conversation critics D'Israeli dear death delightful dreams Dryden Duchess of Marlborough E'en effect egotism egotist Essay Essay on Criticism external face fair fame fancy feeling friendship genius gleam glorious glory happy harmony hath heart hope Horace Walpole human intellectual John Chalkhill Johnson labour Leigh Hunt less light lines literary look Lord Bolingbroke Lord Byron Marchmont memory Milton mind Montaigne nature never o'er observed once passage passion perhaps persons Petrarch physiognomy pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's praise prose reader remarks says scene seems Shakspeare silent smile sonnet soul sound speak spirit stanza style sweet talk taste tender thine thing thou thought tion truth verse voice Warton weary words writers
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หน้า 280 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
หน้า 129 - Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
หน้า 332 - Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that...
หน้า 99 - With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
หน้า 91 - Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar...
หน้า 97 - Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell!
หน้า 202 - CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman.
หน้า 203 - I trust hereby to make it manifest with what small willingness I endure to interrupt the pursuit of no less hopes than these, and leave a calm and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark in a troubled sea of noises and hoarse disputes, put from beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies...
หน้า 93 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
หน้า 97 - Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead, And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge...