The Connecticut Wits: And Other Essays

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Yale University Press, 1920 - 256 Seiten
 

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Seite 219 - How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Seite 39 - Ah! Then, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream; I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Amid a world how different from this!
Seite 231 - Such equivocations are always unskilful ; but here they are indecent, and at least approach to impiety; of which, however, I believe the writer not to have been conscious. Such is the power of reputation justly acquired, that its blaze drives away the eye from nice examination. Surely, no man could have fancied that he read Lycidas with pleasure, had he not known its Author.
Seite 234 - Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, Reigns here and revels ; not in the bought smile Of harlots — loveless, joyless, unendeared, Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, Or serenate, which the starved lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.
Seite 188 - Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing : And, pressing a troop unable to stoop And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.
Seite 217 - So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself, My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Seite 116 - But forc'd, at length, her ancient reign to quit, She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; Exulting Folly hail'd the joyful day, And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway.
Seite 255 - The tragicomedy, which is the product of the English theatre, is one of the most monstrous inventions that ever entered into a poet's thoughts. An author might as well think of weaving the adventures of Aeneas and Hudibras into one poem, as of writing such a motley piece of mirth and sorrow.
Seite 62 - tis all a cheat : Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit ; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay : To-morrow's falser than the former day ; Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Seite 187 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light, You common people of the skies, — What are you when the sun shall rise?

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