The works, of ... lord Byron, Volume 1 |
Common terms and phrases
adieu Anacreon arms Bard beauties bend beneath bids blast blest bosom breast Calmar CAPEL LOFFT CATULLUS chief COTTLE dead dear death deeds dream Dunciad dwell e'en Edinburgh Review Epic Euryalus expire fame fate fear feel flame foes follies gale genius gentle glory glow hail hapless heart Heaven heroes honour hope hour Iulus JEFFREY LACHIN Latian live Loch na Garr Lochlin Lord Byron Lord Fanny lov'd lyre Lyrical Ballads Mathon mingle Mora Morven mourn Muse ne'er Newstead NEWSTEAD ABBEY night Nisus Nisus and Euryalus numbers o'er Oithona once Orla Oscar Ossian poem poetry praise repose resign rhyme rise roll sacred scenes scribbling crew seek shade sighs sire sleep slumber smile song Sonnets sons soul SOUTHEY spear stanzas strain tears thee thine thou thro throng translation verse voice Volscens wave wing wonted yield youth
Popular passages
Page 50 - So the struck Eagle stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart...
Page 95 - Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain : England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic To one who has roved on the mountains afar ; Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.
Page 16 - And think'st thou, Scott, by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Miller may combine To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line ? No ! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame.
Page 16 - To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Still for stern mammon may they toil in vain!
Page 20 - ... example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of
Page 1 - THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle; Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the way.
Page 126 - With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure him, that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet ; nay, although ( which does not always happen) those feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately, upon the fingers, — it is not the whole art of poetry.
Page 125 - In truth, it is this consideration only, that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our review, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account.
Page 124 - THE poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor men are said to permit. Indeed, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level than if they were so much stagnant water.
Page 132 - But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content; for they are the last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus ; he never lived in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and "though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has not of late enjoyed this advantage.