The Miscellaneous Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart: Life of John Dryden

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Страница 293 - The style of Dryden is capricious and varied, that of Pope is cautious and uniform ; Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind, Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle.
Страница 111 - With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds...
Страница 197 - What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Страница 111 - But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Страница 196 - History, a bold and wellaimed attack, he displays, with a happy mixture of narrative and argument, the faults and follies, the changes and contradictions of our first reformers; whose variations (as he dexterously contends) are the mark of historical error, while the perpetual unity of the catholic church is the sign and test of infallible truth. To my present feelings it seems incredible that I should ever believe that I believed in transubstantiation. But my conqueror oppressed me with the sacramental...
Страница 98 - They rose, but at their height could seldom stay. Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped ; And they have kept it since, by being dead.
Страница 290 - Thy reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust, And sacred, place by Dryden's awful dust; Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies, To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes, Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest ! Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest ! One grateful woman to thy fame supplies What a whole thankless land to his denies.
Страница 294 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Страница 74 - Poets like lovers should be bold and dare, They spoil their business with an over-care. And he who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence.
Страница 171 - In fireworks give him leave to vent his spite — Those are the only serpents he can write ; The height of his ambition is, we know, But to be master of a puppet-show ; On that one stage his works may yet appear, And a month's harvest keeps him all the year.

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