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 - 108 pages
 

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Page 91 - 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.
Page 74 - 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.
Page 85 - 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...
Page 32 - 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; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless...
Page 5 - He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore: his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views, At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Page 55 - I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop'd 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 hail'd the wretch who won.
Page 14 - Of deeper too and ampler floods, Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods; Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, And perspectives of pleasant glades, Where nymphs of brightest form appear, And shaggy satyrs standing near, Which them at once admire and fear.
Page 44 - 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.
Page 61 - ART," and that they are therefore, per se, more poetical. ' In like manner those PASSIONS of the human heart, which belong to Nature in general, are, per se, more adapted to the HIGHER SPECIES of Poetry, than those which are derived from incidental and transient MANNERS.
Page 59 - After all this it is surely superfluous to answer the question that has once been asked, whether Pope was a poet? otherwise than by asking in return, if Pope be not a poet, where is poetry to be found?

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