Letters to Lord Byron on a Question of Poetical Criticism: To which are Now First Added the Letter to Mr. Campbell, as Far as Regards Poetical Criticism : and the Answer to the Writer in the Quarterly Review, as Far as They Relate to the Same Subject, Second Editions, Together with an Answer to Some Objections, and Further Illustrations

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Hurst, Robinson, and Company, 1822 - 217 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 78 - WHO is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah ? this that is glorious in his apparel, travelling in the greatness of his strength ? I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save.
الصفحة 36 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible...
الصفحة 91 - First follow Nature, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same: Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, One clear, unchanged, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart, At once the source, and end, and test of Art. Art from that fund each just supply provides; Works without show, and without pomp presides: In some fair body thus th...
الصفحة 97 - He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay: There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
الصفحة 48 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
الصفحة 77 - Their fluid bodies half dissolv'd in light, Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew, Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes ; While every beam new transient colours flings, Colours that change whene'er they wave their wings.
الصفحة 39 - I am now to examine Paradise Lost, a poem which, considered with respect to design, may claim the first place, and with respect to performance, the second, among the productions of the human mind.
الصفحة 59 - Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother— he their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday ! — All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire...
الصفحة 94 - Their dread commander ; he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower ; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appeared Less than archangel ruined, and the excess Of glory obscured...
الصفحة 59 - I see before me the gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

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