Anthologia Anglica, a new selection from the English poets from Spenser to Shelley, with short literary notices by H. Williams |
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... 318 • 134 370 Shirley Cowley Burns Cowley Hemans • Byron Moore 395 354 · Shakespeare Shelley 84 • 420 • 451 • 99 415 19 Milton 161 · 384 366 350 Byron Hemans Scott Hinda Historic Fame . Hope · Human Mind , The CONTENTS . xi.
... 318 • 134 370 Shirley Cowley Burns Cowley Hemans • Byron Moore 395 354 · Shakespeare Shelley 84 • 420 • 451 • 99 415 19 Milton 161 · 384 366 350 Byron Hemans Scott Hinda Historic Fame . Hope · Human Mind , The CONTENTS . xi.
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Anthologia Anglica Howard Williams. Hinda Historic Fame . Hope · Human Mind , The Human Selfishness Hymn , The Image , A Mother's Imagination , Force of Immortality Ingratitude In Memoriam Italia 99 " " Italian Masters of Painting Jew ...
Anthologia Anglica Howard Williams. Hinda Historic Fame . Hope · Human Mind , The Human Selfishness Hymn , The Image , A Mother's Imagination , Force of Immortality Ingratitude In Memoriam Italia 99 " " Italian Masters of Painting Jew ...
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... would aspire to , That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin , More pangs and fears than wars or women have : And when he falls , he falls like Lucifer , Never to hope again . Cromwell . O , my lord , Must I then 60 ANTHOLOGIA ANGLICA .
... would aspire to , That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin , More pangs and fears than wars or women have : And when he falls , he falls like Lucifer , Never to hope again . Cromwell . O , my lord , Must I then 60 ANTHOLOGIA ANGLICA .
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... hope to win by it ? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty . Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace , To silence envious tongues . Be just , and fear not Let all the ends thou ...
... hope to win by it ? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty . Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace , To silence envious tongues . Be just , and fear not Let all the ends thou ...
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... hope of coming happiness : by this Fresh fountain many a blushing maid Hath crowned the head of her long - loved shepherd With gaudy flowers , whilst he happy sung Lays of his love and dear captivity . The Faithful Shepherdess . THE GOD ...
... hope of coming happiness : by this Fresh fountain many a blushing maid Hath crowned the head of her long - loved shepherd With gaudy flowers , whilst he happy sung Lays of his love and dear captivity . The Faithful Shepherdess . THE GOD ...
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Anthologia Anglica, a New Selection from the English Poets from Spenser to ... Anthologia Anglica Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2019 |
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Author beauty behold beneath birds blood bower breast breath bright CATHERINE WINKWORTH charming clouds Comus Crown 8vo dark death deep delight divine doth dream e'en earth Edition English English poetry eternal eyes Faery Queen fair Faithful Shepherdess fame fancy fear flowers gaze genius gentle Giaour golden grace green groves hath hear heart heaven heavenly HISTORY JOHN STUART MILL JOHN TYNDALL King light live Lord melody Midsummer Night's Dream moon morn mortal mountain muse nature Nature's never night nymph o'er pain Paradise Paradise Lost passion pleasure poem poet poetic poetry Post 8vo Prometheus Unbound PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS Queen Queen Mab revised round scene seem'd shade sight sing sleep smiles soft song soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee thine thou art thought verse voice vols wave wild wind wings Woodcuts woods
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Sida 58 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Sida 34 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Sida 280 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Sida 163 - Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine...
Sida 432 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night ; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again.
Sida 143 - HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Sida 215 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Sida 76 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair ? for beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling ; To her let us garlands bring.
Sida 277 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Sida 32 - All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning give him the greater commendation. He was naturally learned. He needed not the spectacles of books to read nature. He looked inwards, and found her there.