Specimens of the British PoetsJ. Murray, 1844 - 716 páginas |
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... fair a dame ? Fair Eva , placed in perfect happiness , Lending her praise - notes to the liberal heavens , Strook with the accents of archangels ' tunes , Wrought not more pleasure to her husband's thoughts , Than this fair woman's ...
... fair a dame ? Fair Eva , placed in perfect happiness , Lending her praise - notes to the liberal heavens , Strook with the accents of archangels ' tunes , Wrought not more pleasure to her husband's thoughts , Than this fair woman's ...
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... fair , and I am fane ' , My scheip gois haill aboif " , An we wald play us in this plane▾ They wald us baith reproif " . V. She . Robene take tent unto my tale * , And wirk all as I reid , And thow sall haif my hart all haile * Eik and ...
... fair , and I am fane ' , My scheip gois haill aboif " , An we wald play us in this plane▾ They wald us baith reproif " . V. She . Robene take tent unto my tale * , And wirk all as I reid , And thow sall haif my hart all haile * Eik and ...
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... fair daill , " may either mean that he assembled his sheep in a fair full number , or in a fair piece of low ground ; the former is the more probable meaning . The word werry I am unable to explain . WILLIAM DUNBAR . [ Born , 1460 ...
... fair daill , " may either mean that he assembled his sheep in a fair full number , or in a fair piece of low ground ; the former is the more probable meaning . The word werry I am unable to explain . WILLIAM DUNBAR . [ Born , 1460 ...
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... fair of face , And studer weill ay in his ladies grace : For he was wondir amiabill , And in all deidis honourabill ; And ay his honour did advance , In Ingland first and syneb in France ; And thare his manheid did assail Under the ...
... fair of face , And studer weill ay in his ladies grace : For he was wondir amiabill , And in all deidis honourabill ; And ay his honour did advance , In Ingland first and syneb in France ; And thare his manheid did assail Under the ...
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... fair , Save for her pride and scorn , such sin As heart of love can never bear ; Like leafless plant in blasted shade , So liveth she - a barren maid . SONNET MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM , WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR , AS SHE STOOD AT ...
... fair , Save for her pride and scorn , such sin As heart of love can never bear ; Like leafless plant in blasted shade , So liveth she - a barren maid . SONNET MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM , WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR , AS SHE STOOD AT ...
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Outras edições - Ver tudo
Specimens of the British Poets: With Biographical and Critical Notices, and ... Thomas Campbell Visualização integral - 1853 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
appear Aret arms beauty behold Ben Jonson blood Born breast breath bright Canterbury Tales Cham Chaucer CLEORA court DAVID LYNDSAY dear death delight Died doth Dryden earth English eyes fair fame fancy fate father fear fire flame genius give grace hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven Hengo honour Hudibras Jonson king lady language Layamon Leosthenes light live look Lord maid Massinissa Metis mind Mirror for Magistrates Muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er passion pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Pope praise prince queen quoth racter reign Saxon scene Scotland seem'd shade Shakspeare shine sight sing smile song sorrow soul speak spirit sweet sylphs taste tears tell thee thine things thou art thought Twas unto verse virtue wanton whilst William Davenant wind wretch youth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 126 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Página 42 - And we will sit upon the rocks Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
Página 259 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
Página 264 - Mortals, that would follow me, Love Virtue ; she alone is free. She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime; Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her.
Página 75 - Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Página 259 - Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the old law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind. Her face was...
Página 41 - Come, sleep ! O sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th...
Página 306 - Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Página 306 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages cursed; For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfix'd 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-inform'd the tenement of clay.
Página 156 - ASK ME No MORE ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more...