Poetical Works: With Notices of His Life, History of the Rowley Controversy, a Selection of His Letters and Notes Critical and Explanatory

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W. P. Grant, 1842
 

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第108页 - O! why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men, as angels, without feminine; Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
第80页 - The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow ; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow...
第110页 - I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood...
第xcvii页 - I undeceived him about my being a person of any interest, and urged to him that in duty and gratitude to his mother, who had straitened herself to breed him up to a profession, he ought to labour in it, that in her old age he might absolve his filial debt; and I told him that when he should have made a fortune, he might unbend himself with the studies consonant to his inclinations...
第81页 - And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy death-bed, He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow All flaxen was his poll, He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan: God ha
第xcv页 - Chatterton's statement, which, according to the virtuoso, was in these terms — " he informed me that he was the son of a poor widow, who supported him with great difficulty ; that he was clerk or apprentice to an attorney, but had a taste and turn for more elegant studies ; and hinted a wish that I would assist him with my interest in emerging out of so dull a profession, by procuring him some place in which he could pursue his natural bent...
第81页 - Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge, In the briered delle belowe; Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge, To the nyghte-mares as heie goe; Mie love ys dedde, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie; Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude; Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie, Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude: Mie love ys dedde, Gon to hys deathe-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree.
第cxxxvii页 - Through hot Arabia holds its rapid course ; On Tiber's banks where scarlet jasmines bloom, And purple aloes shed a rich perfume ; Where, when the sun is melting in his heat, The reeking tigers find a cool retreat ; Bask in the sedges, lose the sultry beam, And wanton with their shadows in the stream...
第7页 - I would rather lean to the utmost enthusiasm of his admirers, than to the cold opinion of those •who are afraid of being blinded to the defects of the poems attributed to Rowley, by the veil of obsolete phraseology which is thrown over them. If we look to the ballad of Sir Charles Bawdin, and translate it into modern English, we shall find its strength and interest to have no dependence on obsolete words. In the striking passage of the martyr Bawdin standing erect in his car to rebuke Edward, who...
第74页 - Heaven's gates spontaneous opens to the powers, Heaven's golden gates, kept by the winged Hours ; Commission'd in alternate watch they stand, The sun's bright portals and the skies command, Involve in clouds the' eternal gates of day, Or the dark barrier roll with ease away. The sounding hinges ring : on either side The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide. The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies, Confused, Olympus...

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