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Seite 535 - 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...
Seite 181 - Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught In chorus or iambic, teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight received In brief sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate, and chance, and change in human life, High actions, and high passions best describing : Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratic, Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece To Macedon and Artaxerxes...
Seite 474 - Latin — rime being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre ; graced indeed since by the use of some famous modern poets, carried away by custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse, than else they would have expressed them.
Seite 284 - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands ; He nothing common did, or mean, Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; Nor called the gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right, But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Seite 67 - Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam...
Seite 428 - To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time; And all the muses still were in their prime When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. Nature herself was proud of his designs And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun and woven so fit As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
Seite 38 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, ^ That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Seite 256 - I'll have Italian masks by night, Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows; And in the day, when he shall walk abroad, Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad; My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay...
Seite 255 - But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
Seite 45 - tis the soul of peace ; Of all the virtues 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breath'd.