The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volumes 13-14

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779 - English poetry
 

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Page 191 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high. Arise ye more than dead. Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, In order to their stations leap, And music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man.
Page 131 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Page 205 - And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Page 183 - Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go, To make a third she joined the former two.
Page 5 - As only buz to Heaven with evening wings ; Strike in the dark, offending but by chance ; Such are the blindfold blows of Ignorance : They know not beings,, and but hate a name ; To them the Hind and Panther are the same.
Page 130 - And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known. Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours ,. come, | From your award to wait their final doom ; ( And, foes before, return in friendship home. Without their cost, you terminate the cause, And save the...
Page 99 - Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. The King himself the sacred unction made, As King by office, and as priest by trade. In his sinister hand, instead of ball, He plac'da mighty mug of potent ale; Love's Kingdom...
Page 192 - Excites us to arms With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.
Page 101 - Where did his wit on learning fix a brand And rail at arts he did not understand? Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? Where sold he bargains, "whipstitch, kiss my arse", Promised a play and dwindled to a farce?
Page 202 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair...

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