On Ellis's Specimens of the early English poets. Ellis' and Ritson's Specimens of early English metrical romances. Godwin's life of Chaucer. Todd's edition of Spenser. Herbert's poems Evans's Old ballads. Moliere. Chatterton. Reliques of Burns. Compbell's Gertrude of Wyoming. The battles of Talavera; a poem. Southey's Curse of Kehama. Childe Harold's pilgrimage, canto IV. Amadis of Gaul. Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. Southey's Life of John Bunyan. Godwin's Fleetwood. Cumberland's John De Lancaster. Maturin's Fatal revenge. Maturin's Women; or, Pour et contre. Miss Austen's novels. Remarks on Frankenstein
Carey & Hart, 1841
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adventures affected Amadis Amadis de Gaul ancient appears ballad bard battle of Talavera beautiful betwixt Bunyan Burns called character Chatterton Chaucer chivalry circumstances comedy composition Courcy criticism daughter death Ellis English English poetry expression Faery Queen fancy father favour feeling fiction Fleetwood Frankenstein French Galaor genius Godwin hand heart hero honour human imitation interest John Bunyan John of Gaunt Kehama King knights labours Ladurlad lady language length Lisuarte Lord Lord Byron manner merit metrical romances mind minstrels Moliere Moliere's moral narrative nature never novels original passages passion perhaps person piece Pilgrim Pilgrim's Progress pleasure poem poet poetical poetry possessed present prose racter reader ridicule Rowley satire scene seems sentiments Sir Ywain song Southey Spenser spirit stanzas story style supposed tale talents Tartuffe taste thee thou thought Thrym tion verse writing Zaira
Strona 249 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Strona 254 - I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Strona 182 - I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
Strona 190 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Strona 185 - When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, Th' adored Name, I taught thee how to pour in song, To soothe thy flame. " I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, By Passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray . Was light from Heaven.
Strona 439 - His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath ; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
Strona 340 - Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy? Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly? Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation, Or else be drowned in thy contemplation? Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see A man i' th' clouds and hear him speak to thee?
Strona 255 - Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, Less beloved head...
Strona 31 - Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of turneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Strona 242 - Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.