English Language and Literary Criticism: English poetryPotter, 1882 - English language |
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Page 8
... stanza is a collection of verses methodically arranged . poem is a collection of verses or stanzas written upon some particular topic in accordance with the rules for poetic composition . Rhyme is the systematic repetition or recurrence ...
... stanza is a collection of verses methodically arranged . poem is a collection of verses or stanzas written upon some particular topic in accordance with the rules for poetic composition . Rhyme is the systematic repetition or recurrence ...
Page 17
... stanzas . The following extracts will suffice here : We struck with our swords in the time when yet young ; I went towards the east to prepare the repast of blood for the wolves , and in the great combat wherein I sent the people of ...
... stanzas . The following extracts will suffice here : We struck with our swords in the time when yet young ; I went towards the east to prepare the repast of blood for the wolves , and in the great combat wherein I sent the people of ...
Page 71
... stanza , imitated from Goethe : Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? Where the rage of the vulture , the love of the turtle , Now melt into sorrow , now madden to crime ? Know ...
... stanza , imitated from Goethe : Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? Where the rage of the vulture , the love of the turtle , Now melt into sorrow , now madden to crime ? Know ...
Page 72
... stanza of Spenser is perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative , though I confess it is the measure most after my own heart . Scott , alone , of the present century , has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the ...
... stanza of Spenser is perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative , though I confess it is the measure most after my own heart . Scott , alone , of the present century , has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the ...
Page 78
... stanza , describing the dwelling - place of King Volsung : There was a dwelling of kings ere the world was waxen old ; Dukes were the door - wards there , and the roofs were thatched with gold ; Earls were the wrights that wrought it ...
... stanza , describing the dwelling - place of King Volsung : There was a dwelling of kings ere the world was waxen old ; Dukes were the door - wards there , and the roofs were thatched with gold ; Earls were the wrights that wrought it ...
Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel allegory ancient Anglo-Saxon ballads beauty Ben Jonson blank verse Byron called Canterbury Tales Canto century character Chaucer comedy critic death delight didactic doth drama dream Dryden eclogue Edition England English language English Literature English Poetry epic eyes Faerie Queene fair fancy flowers French genius hath Hazlitt heart heaven hero Hudibras humor hymns imagination imitation John John Dryden King lady language legend literary live Lord Lycidas manner merit Milton Mirror for Magistrates nature never night o'er Paradise Lost passages passion pastoral play pleasure poem poet poetical Pope popular prose published queen reader rhyme romances satire says scene Shakspeare Shakspeare's sing song soul Spenser spirit stanzas story student style sweet Taine Tale thee things thou thought tion tragedy translation Trouvères verse versification wonderful words writing written
Popular passages
Page 386 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me : — ' Pipe a song about a lamb : ' So I piped with merry cheer. ' Piper, pipe that song again : ' So I piped ; he wept to hear.
Page 359 - Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 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 545 - IT WAS many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Page 313 - Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
Page 375 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Page 460 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 544 - or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door — Darkness there and nothing more.
Page 348 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow, When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 332 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints.
Page 346 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...