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ANACREON bard beauty behold beneath blast bless blest bliss bosom breast Calmar Capel Lofft CATULLUS dare dark dead dear death delight dream Dunciad e'en Edinburgh Review edition expire eyes fair fame fate fear feel flame foes folly fond forget Friendship genius glory glow grave Harrow heart heaven heroes honour hope hour kiss lady lines live Lochlin Lord Byron Lord Carlisle Lord Henry Petty love's last adieu lyre Mathon mind Moore muse ne'er never Newstead Newstead Abbey night Nisus and Euryalus noble numbers o'er once Orla Oscar passion perchance poem poet praise pride Probus published remembrance rhyme rise roll satire scene shade sigh sire sleep smile song soothe soul stanzas strain sweet tears thee thine thou throng tomb translation truth twill verse wave weep wings wonted written young youth
Page 293 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.
Page 294 - By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn : To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; I never knew but one, — and here he lies.
Page 319 - By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Maid of Athens!
Page 239 - Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose...
Page 219 - Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers ; I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Page 229 - twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment ? No: as soon Seek roses in December — ice in June ; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore ; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.
Page 291 - I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. I kiss'd it, — and repress'd my sighs Its father in its face to see : But then it had its mother's eyes, And they were all to love and me. Mary, adieu ! I must away : While thou art blest I'll not repine ; But near thee I can never stay ; My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride, Had quench'd at length my boyish flame ; Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all — save hope — the same.
Page 239 - Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favourite May, Who warns his friend 'to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double...
Page 171 - Our union would have healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers, it would have joined lands broad and rich, it would have joined at least one heart, and two persons not ill matched in years (she is two years my elder), and — and — and — what has been the result?
Page 226 - Still must I hear ? — shall hoarse * Fitzgerald bawl His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my Muse ? Prepare for rhyme — I'll publish, right or wrong : Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song.