The English Poets, Том 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 |
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Стр. vii
... Wind 115 115 The Cruel Mistress 116 • A Deposition from Love 117 Disdain returned 118 Celia singing 118 The Lady to her Inconstant Servant 119 A Pastoral Dialogue Extract from The Rapture Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villers Song The ...
... Wind 115 115 The Cruel Mistress 116 • A Deposition from Love 117 Disdain returned 118 Celia singing 118 The Lady to her Inconstant Servant 119 A Pastoral Dialogue Extract from The Rapture Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villers Song The ...
Стр. 30
... winds , trees , beasts , birds , did lend their ear . Me here she first perceiv'd , and here a morn Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face ; Here did she sigh , here first my hopes were born , And I first got a pledge of promis'd ...
... winds , trees , beasts , birds , did lend their ear . Me here she first perceiv'd , and here a morn Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face ; Here did she sigh , here first my hopes were born , And I first got a pledge of promis'd ...
Стр. 32
... winds , would hear A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre , Your stormy chiding stay ; Let zephyr only breathe , And with her tresses play , Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death . The winds all silent are , And Phoebus in his ...
... winds , would hear A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre , Your stormy chiding stay ; Let zephyr only breathe , And with her tresses play , Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death . The winds all silent are , And Phoebus in his ...
Стр. 53
... wind or silver rain ; Into this prince gently , oh , gently slide , And kiss him into slumbers like a bride ! 6 FROM THE QUEEN OF CORINTH . ' [ By Fletcher . ] Weep no more , nor sigh , nor groan ; Sorrow calls no time that's gone ...
... wind or silver rain ; Into this prince gently , oh , gently slide , And kiss him into slumbers like a bride ! 6 FROM THE QUEEN OF CORINTH . ' [ By Fletcher . ] Weep no more , nor sigh , nor groan ; Sorrow calls no time that's gone ...
Стр. 59
... Wind jolly huntsmen , your neat bugles shrilly , Hounds make a lusty cry ; Spring up , you falconers , partridges freely Then let your brave hawks fly ! Horses amain , Over ridge , over plain , The dogs have the stag in chase : ' Tis a ...
... Wind jolly huntsmen , your neat bugles shrilly , Hounds make a lusty cry ; Spring up , you falconers , partridges freely Then let your brave hawks fly ! Horses amain , Over ridge , over plain , The dogs have the stag in chase : ' Tis a ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw crown death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson King Lady light live Lord lost Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise reign rose sacred shade shalt shepherds shine sighs sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep winds wings write youth
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Стр. 311 - And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Стр. 348 - Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ? Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide ; To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
Стр. 10 - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Стр. 333 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Стр. 214 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Стр. 174 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Стр. 450 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.
Стр. 297 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Стр. 353 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.
Стр. 320 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days : But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life. But not the praise...