The poetical works of ... George Crabbe, with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son [G. Crabbe].1840 |
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The Poetical Works of the George Crabbe: With His Letters and Journals, and ... George Crabbe Predogled ni na voljo - 2015 |
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Abel ALBEMARLE STREET Aldborough antè appear'd aunt beauty behold BOROUGH bosom call'd Castle of Otranto comfort Crabbe cried crime Cymbeline dare deed delight disdain dread dream dull Dunciad Edinburgh Review fair fancy fate father fear fear'd feel felt fill'd fix'd fled foes fond friendly pair gain'd gentle give gloom grace grave grew grief grieved Gwyn happy heart honour hope hour humble Jonas kind knew lady live look look'd Lord lover maid meads of asphodel Midsummer Night's Dream mind Muse Normanston nymph o'er pain pass'd passion Peter PETER GRIMES pity pleasure poet poor possess'd praise pray'd pride rest scene scorn seem'd shame sigh sigh'd silent smile sorrow soul speak spirit strong sweet Sybil TALE terror thee thou art thought trembling Twas vex'd widow wish'd youth
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Stran 198 - In every village mark'd with little spire, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to Fame; There dwells in lowly shed and mean attire, A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress name; Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent. Awed by the power of this relentless dame; And
Stran 293 - I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days To the very moment that she bad me tell it, Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery. — Othello. An old man, broken with the storms of fate, Is come to lay his weary bones among you; TALE
Stran 8 - saw a gigantic hand, in armour. In the evening, I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate. The work grew on my hands, and I grew fond of it Add, that I was very glad to think of any thing rather than politics. In short, I was so impressed with my tale,
Stran 313 - Venice. Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is (for which I may go the finer), I will lire a bachelor.
Stran 8 - I completed in less than two months, that one evening I wrote from the time I had drunk tea, about six o'clock, till half an hour after one in the morning, when my hand and fingers were
Stran 162 - his meal, For three sad years the boy his tortures bore. And then his pains and trials were no more " How died he, Peter?" when the people said, He growl'd—" I found him lifeless in his bed;" Then tried for softer tone, and sigh'd, " Poor Sam is dead." Yet murmurs were there, and some questions