Censura Literaria: Containing Titles, Abstracts, and Opinions of Old English Books, with Original Disquisitions, Articles of Biography, and Other Literary Antiquities, Τόμος 1
Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1815
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Σελίδα xx - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village- Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Σελίδα xlv - There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart— It does not feel for man ; the natural bond Of brotherhood is severed as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
Σελίδα 18 - Which is my heritage, I will you bring; and with a ring By way of marri-age I will you take, and lady make, As shortly as I can: Thus have ye won an earl-es son And not a banished man.
Σελίδα xlv - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Σελίδα 175 - Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Refining heaven by every wink; The gods do fear whenas they glow, And I do tremble when I think: Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud That beautifies Aurora's face, Or like the silver crimson shroud That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Σελίδα 16 - For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, In lyke wyse hardely Ye wolde answere whosoever it were, In way of company. It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde ; And so is a woman.
Σελίδα 175 - With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue Her body every way is fed, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Nature herself her shape admires; The gods are wounded in her sight; And Love forsakes his heavenly fires And at her eyes his brand doth light: Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Σελίδα 236 - Wether pleasaunt, Drye, and not mysty, the wynde calme and styll, That after our houndes yournynge so meryly; Chasynge the dere ouer dale and hyll, In herynge we may folow, and to comfort the cry.