The Poetical Works of Leigh Hunt

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H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1923 - 776 страници

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Страница xxii - Waller was smooth ; but Dryden taught to join The varying verse, the full resounding line, The long majestic march, and energy divine : Though still some traces of our rustic vein And splay-foot verse remain'd, and will remain.
Страница 91 - The vision raised its head, And. with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Страница 362 - JENNY kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me.
Страница 76 - King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.
Страница 159 - I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, The rest is all but leather or prunella.
Страница 238 - Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth...
Страница 312 - Sleep breathes at last from out thee, My little patient boy; And balmy rest about thee— Smooths off the day's annoy. I sit me down and think Of all thy winning ways; Yet almost wish with sudden shrink That I had less to praise. Thy sidelong pillowed meekness, Thy thanks to all that aid, Thy heart in pain and weakness Of fancied faults afraid ; The little trembling hand That wipes thy quiet tears, These, these are things that may demand Dread memories for years. Sorrows I've had, severe ones.
Страница 422 - I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me. '.II a Leigh SONG OF FAIRIES ROBBING AN Hunt ORCHARD We are the Fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples...
Страница 52 - I'm mad with want — I'm mad with misery, And, oh thou Sultan Mahmoud, God cries out for thee!" The Sultan comforted the man, and said, " Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread," (For he was poor) " and other comforts. Go ; And, should the wretch return, let Sultan Mahmoud know.
Страница 331 - IF you become a nun, dear, A friar I will be; In any cell you run, dear, Pray look behind for me. The roses all turn pale, too; The doves all take the veil, too; The blind will see the show; What! you become a nun, my dear. I'll not believe it, no! To 625 If you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be: The Cupids every one, dear, Will chant, "We trust in thee!

Информация за автора (1923)

Leigh Hunt was so prolific that, if his writing were ever collected, it would exceed 100 volumes of mostly unmemorable prose. He was so eccentric and socially visible that even Dickens's caricature of Hunt as the perennially cheerful Harold Skimpole in Bleak House is immediately recognizable. But his philosophy of cheer, however eccentric among such doleful writers of his generation as Coleridge and Byron, appealed to middle-class public taste, which accounts for his immense following. Educated, like Coleridge and Lamb, at Christ's Hospital, Hunt became a journalist, helping his brother John edit the weekly Examiner. As a result of the paper's liberal policy, they were both fined and imprisoned for two years for writing a libelous description of the Prince Regent on his birthday. Hunt turned his prison cell into a salon and enjoyed visits from Jeremy Bentham, Byron, Keats, Lamb, and Hazlitt. After his release, Hunt settled in Hampstead, London, a political martyr and a model of domesticity. His writing includes The Feast of the Poets (1814), a satire of contemporary writers; The Story of Rimini (1816), a saccharine Italianate romance; and Hero and Leander (1819). Young poets such as Keats found the sensual surfaces easy to imitate. But mostly Hunt wrote essays and edited dozens of short-lived magazines and journals, providing an insight into the literary life of London during this period.

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