The English Poets: Selections with Critical Introductions, כרך 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1905 |
מתוך הספר
תוצאות 1-5 מתוך 100
עמוד xiii
... • To my Honoured Kinsman , John Dryden Veni Creator Spiritus • 448 • 449 451 454 456 460 459 463 · 464 · 466 467 · 469 • · 470 476 478 • 483 484 486 489 495 1590 BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster CONTENTS . xiii.
... • To my Honoured Kinsman , John Dryden Veni Creator Spiritus • 448 • 449 451 454 456 460 459 463 · 464 · 466 467 · 469 • · 470 476 478 • 483 484 486 489 495 1590 BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster CONTENTS . xiii.
עמוד 1
Selections with Critical Introductions Thomas Humphry Ward. BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster School and ( according to Fuller ) at St. John's College , Cambridge . After a brief connexion with the trade of his step ...
Selections with Critical Introductions Thomas Humphry Ward. BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster School and ( according to Fuller ) at St. John's College , Cambridge . After a brief connexion with the trade of his step ...
עמוד 20
... born . And such wert thou ! Look , how the father's face Lives in his issue , even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well turnèd and true filèd lines , In each of which he seems to shake a lance , As ...
... born . And such wert thou ! Look , how the father's face Lives in his issue , even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well turnèd and true filèd lines , In each of which he seems to shake a lance , As ...
עמוד 23
... born , Standing with fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death ...
... born , Standing with fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death ...
עמוד 24
... born at the manor - house of Hawthornden near Edinburgh on December 13 , 1585 , and died there December 4 , 1649 . His chief poetical works are Teares on the Death of Maliades ( Prince Henry ) , 1613 ; Poems , 1616 ; Forth Feasting , a ...
... born at the manor - house of Hawthornden near Edinburgh on December 13 , 1585 , and died there December 4 , 1649 . His chief poetical works are Teares on the Death of Maliades ( Prince Henry ) , 1613 ; Poems , 1616 ; Forth Feasting , a ...
מהדורות אחרות - הצג הכל
מונחים וביטויים נפוצים
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Castara Catullus charm Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw crown death delight died dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers foes Giles Fletcher give glory grace Habington hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert heroic couplet Herrick Hesperides honour Hudibras Jonson King kiss light live Lord Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rose sacred satire shade shine sighs sing sleep song sonnet soul stars Sweet Spirit tears thee thine things thou shalt thought tree verse Waller wanton weep WILLIAM HABINGTON winds wings write youth
קטעים בולטים
עמוד 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
עמוד 218 - 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.
עמוד 204 - I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature : So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.
עמוד 455 - A daring pilot in extremity, 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.
עמוד 301 - 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...
עמוד 185 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
עמוד 178 - 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? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!
עמוד 319 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.
עמוד 326 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
עמוד 328 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not; in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks.