The Works of Thomas Gray ...: Essay on Gray's poetry [by J. Mitford] LettersW. Pickering, 1835 |
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Page viii
... Composition attributed to Gray by Mason . II . On the Harmony of his Verse , with some Remarks on Verbal Imitation in Poetry . III . On his Language or Poetical Diction . IV . On the Moral and Pathetic Character of his Writings . V. On ...
... Composition attributed to Gray by Mason . II . On the Harmony of his Verse , with some Remarks on Verbal Imitation in Poetry . III . On his Language or Poetical Diction . IV . On the Moral and Pathetic Character of his Writings . V. On ...
Page viii
... compositions more perfect . " And in a note to that passage he adds : " I have many of his critical letters by me on my own compositions : letters , which , though they would not amuse the public in general , con- tain excellent lessons ...
... compositions more perfect . " And in a note to that passage he adds : " I have many of his critical letters by me on my own compositions : letters , which , though they would not amuse the public in general , con- tain excellent lessons ...
Page viii
... composition , is at least a ques- tionable point ; and deserving the consideration . of those , who , without possessing that exactness of conception attributed to Gray by his biogra- pher , may endeavour to imitate the example of so ...
... composition , is at least a ques- tionable point ; and deserving the consideration . of those , who , without possessing that exactness of conception attributed to Gray by his biogra- pher , may endeavour to imitate the example of so ...
Page viii
... composition , by the confinement of the rhyme , and strictness of the measure , condensed , and moulded nearly into their finished form ; or in other words , the mind of the writer will feel by experience , that such thoughts can assume ...
... composition , by the confinement of the rhyme , and strictness of the measure , condensed , and moulded nearly into their finished form ; or in other words , the mind of the writer will feel by experience , that such thoughts can assume ...
Page viii
... composition . The last four lines of the tale of Palæmon and Lavinia are Pope's entirely : " The fields , the master , all , my fair , are thine ! If to the various blessings which thy house on me lavish'd Has shower'd upon me , dearest ...
... composition . The last four lines of the tale of Palæmon and Lavinia are Pope's entirely : " The fields , the master , all , my fair , are thine ! If to the various blessings which thy house on me lavish'd Has shower'd upon me , dearest ...
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Abbéville admired adorned agreeable Alcaic ancient appears Aristotle Bard beauty believe blank verse called character church composition critic diction drama Dryden effect Elegy English English poetry epode Essay Euripides expression eyes fancy feeling Florence formed French genius Genoa give Grande Chartreuse Gray's Greek Horace images imagination imitation language Latin least letter lines Lycophron lyrical lyrical poetry manner Mason mention ments metre mihi Milton mind moral morning mountains nature never night numbers observe opinion painting pass passage peculiar perhaps picture Pindar pleasure poet poetical poetry Pope Pope's Posidippus quod racter reader remarks Rhône rhyme Rome says seems sentiment Shakespeare stanza Statius style sublimity Syphax Tacitus taste tell thing thought Tibullus tion town tragedy Turin vast versification Voltaire Walpole Walpole's Warton WEST words write καὶ τὰ τῶν
Popular passages
Page lxxviii - Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear : They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings.
Page lxxv - While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm ; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway 75 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Page 153 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Page 71 - I do not remember to have gone ten paces without an exclamation, that there was no restraining. Not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry. There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument. One need not have a very fantastic imagination to see spirits there at noonday. You have death perpetually before your eyes ; only so far removed, as to compose the mind without frighting it.
Page lix - There scattered oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen are showers of violets found; The red-breast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground.
Page 21 - It is a little chaos of mountains and precipices ; mountains, it is true, that do not ascend much above the clouds, nor are the declivities quite so amazing as Dover cliff; but just such hills as people, who love their necks as well as I do, may venture to climb, and crags that give the eye as much pleasure as if they were more dangerous...
Page cxiv - His supplication to father Thames, to tell him who drives the hoop or tosses the ball, is useless and puerile. Father Thames has no better means of knowing than himself. His epithet buxom health is not elegant; he seems not to understand the word.
Page 3 - When you have seen one of my days, you have seen a whole year of my life ; they go round and round like the blind horse in the mill, only he has the satisfaction of fancying he makes a progress and gets some ground ; my eyes are open enough to see the same dull prospect, and to know that, having made four-and-twenty steps more, I shall be just where I was.
Page viii - Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self, Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. As in the hollow breast of Apennine, Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, far from human eye, And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild...
Page 19 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.