Genre - Poetry. You are on the page - 7
n Douglas; and the Earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil, A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? WEST. Faith, 'tis a conquest for a prince to boast of. KING. Yea, there thou makest me sad, and makest me sin In envy that my Lord Northumberland Should be the father to so blest a son,-- A son who is the theme of honour's tongue; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride: Whilst I, by looking on the praise
ely, Plot, Character, Diction, Thought, Spectacle, Song. Two of the parts constitute the medium of imitation, one the manner, and three the objects of imitation. And these complete the list. These elements have been employed, we may say, by the poets to a man; in fact, every play contains Spectacular elements as well as Character, Plot, Diction, Song, and Thought.But most important of all is the structure of the incidents. For Tragedy is an imitation, not of men, but of an action and of life,
To save their fleet their last efforts they try, And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly. As when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and brings The dreary winter on his frozen wings; Beneath the low-hung clouds the sheets of snow Descend, and whiten all the fields below: So fast the darts on either army pour, So down the rampires rolls the rocky shower: Heavy, and thick, resound the batter'd shields, And the deaf echo rattles round the fields. With shame repulsed, with grief and fury driven, The
do it; the result was the Jalaliera (so called from Jalal-ud-din, one of the king's names)--'acomputation of time,' says Gibbon, 'which surpasses the Julian, andapproaches the accuracy of the Gregorian style.' He is also theauthor of some astronomical tables, entitled 'Ziji-Malikshahi,' andthe French have lately republished and translated an Arabic Treatiseof his on Algebra."His Takhallus or poetical name (Khayyam) signifies a Tent-maker, andhe is said to have at one time exercised that
e lowly birth of Godhead In the stable of the passions, In the manger of the mind-soul; Silent singer of the secret Of compassion deep and holy To the heart with sorrow burdened, To the soul with waiting weary:-- Star of all-surpassing brightness, Thou again dost deck the midnight; Thou again dost cheer the wise ones Watching in the creedal darkness, Weary of the endless battle With the grinding blades of error; Tired of lifeless, useless idols, Of the dead forms of religions; Spent with
increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,Hills peep o'er hills and Alps on Alps arise!A perfect judge will read each work of witWith the same spirit that its author writSurvey the whole nor seek slight faults to findWhere nature moves and rapture warms the mind,Nor lose for that malignant dull delightThe generous pleasure to be charmed with witBut in such lays as neither ebb nor flow,Correctly cold and regularly lowThat, shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;We cannot blame indeed--but we