The works of Samuel Johnson [ed. by F.P. Walesby].
Talboys and Wheeler ; and W. Pickering, 1825
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acquainted Addison afterwards amuse appeared blank verse Bolingbroke censure character Cibber conduct Congreve considered contempt court critick death declared degree delight diligence Dryden Dunciad earl edition Edward Young elegant endeavoured esteem excellence expected favour Fenton fortune friends genius gentleman Gentleman's Magazine happy honour Iliad imagination Ireland kind king labour lady learning letter lived lord Lansdowne mankind Matthew Prior ment mentioned mind mother nature never Night Thoughts observed occasion once Orrery passion performance perhaps pleased pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Pope Pope's pounds praise present printed publick published queen queen Anne reader reason received regard remarks reputation retirement satire Savage Savage's says seems sir Robert Walpole solicited sometimes soon sufficient supposed Swift Tatler tenderness Theophilus Cibber thought tion told topicks tragedy translation Tyrconnel verses virtue whigs write written wrote Young
Page 266 - Statesman \ yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere, ' In action faithful, and in honour clear ; 'Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, 'Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend ; 'Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd, 'And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.
Page 201 - Then he instructed a young nobleman, that the best poet in England was Mr. Pope (a Papist), who had begun a translation of Homer into English verse, for which he must have them all subscribe. "For," says he, "the author shall not begin to print till I have a thousand guineas for him.
Page 240 - He professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised through his whole life with unvaried liberality ; and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, if he be compared with his master. Integrity of understanding and nicety of discernment were not allotted in a less proportion to Dryden than to Pope.
Page 267 - 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.
Page 281 - As a writer, he is entitled to one praise of the highest kind: his mode of thinking, and of expressing his thoughts, is original. His blank verse is no more the blank verse of Milton, or of any other poet, than the rhymes of Prior are the rhymes of Cowley. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, are of his own growth, without transcription, without imitation.
Page 361 - My process has now brought me to the wonderful Wonder of Wonders, the two sister odes, by which, though either vulgar ignorance or common sense at first universally rejected them, many have been since persuaded to think themselves delighted. I am one of those that are willing to be pleased, and therefore would gladly find the meaning of the first stanza of The Progress of Poetry.
Page 301 - Martin, a lieutenant-colonel, left him about two thousand pounds ; a sum which Collins could scarcely think exhaustible, and which he did not live to exhaust. The guineas •were then repaid, and the translation neglected. But man is not born for happiness. Collins, who. while he studied to live, felt no evil but poverty, no sooner lived to study than his life was assailed by more dreadful calamities, disease, and insanity.
Page 190 - Iliad." It is certainly the noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen ; and its publication must therefore be considered as one of the great events in the annals of Learning.
Page 315 - When forced the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart ! Yet I thought — but it might not be so — 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz'd as I slowly withdrew; My path I could hardly discern: So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.
Page 25 - And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice ; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes.