The Port FolioJoseph Dennie, John Elihu Hall Editor and Asbury Dickens, 1801 |
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Page 24
... verse . " But this honeymoon was soon clouded ; in 1774 , the adorable angel , whose countenance was the breath on which he existed , to whom he had so often whispered , Mets ton cœur sur mon cœur , ta bouche sur ma bouche ; the tender ...
... verse . " But this honeymoon was soon clouded ; in 1774 , the adorable angel , whose countenance was the breath on which he existed , to whom he had so often whispered , Mets ton cœur sur mon cœur , ta bouche sur ma bouche ; the tender ...
Page 25
... verses of a fine gentle- man , or a wealthy ' don , from both of which , God in his mercy preserve us . It was when treading the regions of misery and misfortune , that Lebrun addressed his two odes to Buffon ; one on occasion of the ...
... verses of a fine gentle- man , or a wealthy ' don , from both of which , God in his mercy preserve us . It was when treading the regions of misery and misfortune , that Lebrun addressed his two odes to Buffon ; one on occasion of the ...
Page 27
... verses which Lebrun indited - against his own mother and sis- ter : O Méléagre ! ainsi ton effroyable mère Te dévouait aux feux qu'alluma sa colère ; Ainsi l'horrible sœur d'Absyrthe massacré , Dispersait en lambeaux son frère déchire ...
... verses which Lebrun indited - against his own mother and sis- ter : O Méléagre ! ainsi ton effroyable mère Te dévouait aux feux qu'alluma sa colère ; Ainsi l'horrible sœur d'Absyrthe massacré , Dispersait en lambeaux son frère déchire ...
Page 28
... verses , and the majestic flow of his odes . Turn over the volume of epigrams , and you will find in what coin the ... verse , inhaled not from Heaven the mens divinior of a poet . No writer , perhaps , was ever 28 THE WORKS OF LEBRUN .
... verses , and the majestic flow of his odes . Turn over the volume of epigrams , and you will find in what coin the ... verse , inhaled not from Heaven the mens divinior of a poet . No writer , perhaps , was ever 28 THE WORKS OF LEBRUN .
Page 30
... verses superior to mere harmo- ny ; they abound in elevation , and with fine thoughts , brilliantly expressed . The ode was set to music by Miss Beaumenil , and it is not surprising that Buffon shed tears of tenderness , when Madame ...
... verses superior to mere harmo- ny ; they abound in elevation , and with fine thoughts , brilliantly expressed . The ode was set to music by Miss Beaumenil , and it is not surprising that Buffon shed tears of tenderness , when Madame ...
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admiration Aldermen appears Aristophanes Bailiffs beautiful Burgesses character charms Cooke Corporation death delight dollars effect elegant eminent England English epigrams Euripides excellent fame favour feel Fisher Ames genius gentleman George Frederick Cooke give hand heart honour instance interest labour lady language late learned Lebrun letters Lisbon living lord Macbeth manner Mayor ment merit mind nation nature never night Number of voters o'er object observed OLDSCHOOL opinion Othello passion Patron persons Philadelphia Plautus pleasure poem poet poetry PORT FOLIO present racter readers Returning officer Right of Election river scene Scot and Lot sends sentiments Shakspeare side soul spelling spirit style talents taste theatre thee thing thou thought Tibullus tion verses virtue Voltaire whole words writing young youth
Popular passages
Page 195 - Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? Not such thy sons who whilome did await. The hopeless warriors of a willing doom. In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait — Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurota's banks, and call thee from the tomb ? LXXIV.
Page 193 - A few short hours, and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate. »Come hither, hither, my little page: Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along«.
Page 197 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his honied...
Page 195 - For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour ? Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near ; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear.
Page 59 - His hearers could not cough or look aside from him without loss. He commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The fear of every man that heard him was lest he should make an end.
Page 524 - Thou smil'st as if thy soul were soaring To heaven, and heaven's God adoring! And who can tell what visions high May bless an infant's sleeping eye! What brighter throne can brightness find To reign on than an infant's mind, Ere sin destroy or error dim The glory of the seraphim?
Page 194 - Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee — and One above. »My father bless'd me fervently, Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again«.
Page 76 - No one shall run on the Sabbath day, or walk in his garden or elsewhere, except reverently to and from meeting. "No one shall travel, cook victuals, make beds, sweep house, cut hair, or shave, on the Sabbath day.
Page 196 - And yet how lovely in thine age of woe, Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou ! Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow, Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now ; Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, Commingling slowly with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plough : So perish monuments of mortal birth, So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; LXXXVI.
Page 416 - The engines thundered through the street, Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, And torches glared, and clattering feet Along the pavement paced. And one, the leader of the band, From Charing Cross along the Strand, Like stag by beagles hunted hard, Ran till he stopp'd at Vin'gar Yard.