Lord Byron as a Satirist in Verse, Volumen1

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Columbia University Press, 1912 - 228 páginas

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Página 34 - Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men. Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Página 169 - AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king ; Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn — mud from a muddy spring ; Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know. But leech-like to their fainting country cling...
Página 206 - See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm, Farmers of war, dictators of the farm; Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands, Their fields manured by gore of other lands; Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent Their brethren out to battle — why? for rent! Year after year they voted cent, per cent., Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions — why? for rent! They roared, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant To die for England — why then live? — for rent!
Página 168 - Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; Thy tree...
Página 13 - I touch thee! but with honest zeal; To rouse the Watchmen of the public Weal, To Virtue's work provoke the tardy Hall, And goad the Prelate slumb'ring in his Stall.
Página 195 - The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe. There...
Página 53 - Oh ! come, with taste and virtue at thy side, With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride ; With keen poetic glance direct the blow, And empty all thy quiver on the foe : — No pause — no rest — till weltering on the ground The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound.
Página 86 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Página 3 - The poet is bound, and that ex officio, to give his reader some one precept of moral virtue, and to caution him against some one particular vice or folly.
Página 151 - I perch upon an humbler promontory, Amidst life's infinite variety : With no great care for what is nicknamed glory, But speculating as I cast mine eye On what may suit or may not suit my story, And never straining hard to versify, I rattle on exactly as I'd talk With any body in a ride or walk.

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