The Art of Writing English: A Manual for Students, with Chapters on Paraphrasing, Essay-writing, Précis-writing, Punctuation, and Other Matters

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A.M. Holden, 1899 - 334 páginas
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Página 208 - Tis not enough no harshness gives offence ; The sound must seem an echo to the sense : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar.
Página 143 - Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind: His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way: Yet simple Nature to his hope has given.
Página 142 - Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Página 151 - THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty •, In both the last. The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Página 141 - A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
Página 151 - Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse: Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair and learn'd and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Página 16 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Página 139 - O MORTAL man, who livest here by toil, Do not complain of this thy hard estate ; That like an emmet thou must ever moil, Is a sad sentence of an ancient date ; And, certes, there is for it reason great; For, though sometimes it makes thee' weep and wail, And curse thy star, and early drudge and late, Withouten that would come an heavier bale, Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
Página 320 - Tis not enough your counsel still be true ; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do ; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Página 315 - Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high ; So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be : Sink not in spirit : who aimeth at the sky Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.

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