Boileau and the French Classical Critics in England (1660-1830)

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Page 321 - Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Page 131 - Enfin Malherbe vint, et, le premier en France, Fit sentir dans les vers une juste cadence. D'un mot mis en sa place enseigna le pouvoir. Et réduisit la muse aux règles du devoir.
Page 93 - Could all this be forgotten ? Yes, a schism Nurtured by foppery and barbarism Made great Apollo blush for this his land. Men were thought wise who could not understand His glories : with a puling infant's force They sway'd about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus.
Page 93 - Ah, dismal soul'd! The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd Its gathering waves— ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew Of summer nights collected still to make The morning precious: beauty was awake! Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile...
Page 196 - Qu'est-ce qu'une pensée neuve, brillante, extraordinaire ? Ce n'est point, comme se le persuadent les ignorants, une pensée que personne n'a jamais eue, ni dû avoir : c'est, au contraire, une pensée qui a dû venir à tout le monde, et que quelqu'un s'avise le premier d'exprimer. Un bon mot n'est un bon mot qu'en ce qu'il dit une chose que chacun pensait, et qu'il l'a dit d'une manière vive, fine et nouvelle ». Cette théorie des idées confuses va toutefois plus loin que la définition du...
Page 110 - The third way is that of imitation, where the translator (if now he has not lost that name) assumes the liberty not only to vary from the words and sense, but to forsake them both as he sees occasion; and taking only some general hints from the original, to run division1 on the ground-work, as he pleases.
Page 199 - And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Page 413 - For imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like an high-ranging spaniel it must have clogs tied to it lest it outrun the judgment.
Page 196 - whispers through the trees: " If crystal streams " with pleasing murmurs creep," The reader's threatened (not in vain) with " sleep: " Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
Page 218 - Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust. Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool, Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool...

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