To some the eighteenth-century definition of proper poetic matter is unacceptable; but to any who believe that true poetry may (if not "must") consist in "what oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed," Gray's "Churchyard" is a majestic achievement—perhaps (accepting the definition offered) the supreme achievement of its century. Its success, so the great critic of its day thought, lay in its appeal to "the common reader"; and though no... more...

Pope’s life as a writer falls into three periods, answering fairly enough to the three reigns in which he worked.  Under Queen Anne he was an original poet, but made little money by his verses; under George I. he was chiefly a translator, and made much money by satisfying the French-classical taste with versions of the “Iliad” and “Odyssey.”  Under George I. he also edited Shakespeare, but with little... more...

AXEL THORDSON AND FAIR VALBORG. At the wide board at tables play,   With pleasure and with glee aboundingThe ladies twain in fair array,   The game they play is most astounding. How fly about the dies so small,   Such sudden turnings are they making;And so does Fortune’s wheel withal,   We scarcely know the route ’tis taking. Dame Julli grand, and Malfred Queen,   At tables were... more...

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL." 'Twas on the shores that round our coastFrom Deal to Ramsgate span,That I found alone, on a piece of stone,An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long,And weedy and long was he,And I heard this wight on the shore recite,In a singular minor key: "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,And the mate of the Nancy brig,And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,And the crew of the captain's gig." And he... more...

THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. PART I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,Whoever will choose to repair,Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriorsMay haply fall in with old Pierre.On the sunshiny bench of a tavernHe sits and he prates of old wars,And moistens his pipe of tobaccoWith a drink that is named after Mars.The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,And as long as his tap never fails,Thus over his favorite liquorOld Peter will tell his old... more...

THE BROOK. I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make sudden sallyAnd sparkle out among the fern,To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down,Or slip between the ridges,By twenty thorps, a little town,And half a hundred bridges. I chatter over stony ways,In little sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fretBy many a field and fallow,And many a fairy foreland setWith... more...

ADVERTISEMENT. My Booksellers inform’d me, lately, that several inquiries had been made for My Night-Gown and Slippers,—but that every copy had been sold;—they had been out of print these two years.—“Then publish them again,” said I, boldly,—(I print at my own risk)—and with an air of triumph. Messrs. Cadell and Davies advise’d me to make additions.—“The Work is, really, too... more...

BROWN WILLIAM This ballad was written in consequence of the execution of William Christian, generally called William Donn, or Brown William, from the darkness of his complexion, who was shot at Hango Hill, near Castletown, in the Isle of Man, shortly after the Restoration, for alleged treason to the Derby family, who long possessed the sovereignty of Man. . . . The ballad of “Brown William,” which gives an account of the betrayal of... more...

INTRODUCTION LIFE OF BROWNING Robert Browning was born in Camberwell, London, May 7, 1812. He was contemporary with Tennyson, Dickens, Thackeray, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, Darwin, Spencer, Huxley, Dumas, Hugo, Mendelssohn, Wagner, and a score of other men famous in art and science. Browning's good fortune began with his birth. His father, a clerk in the Bank of England, possessed ample means for the education of his children. He had artistic... more...

ADVERTISEMENT. This Poem is the result of a sense of duty, which has taken the Author from quieter studies during a great public crisis. He obeyed the impulse with joy, because it took the shape of verse; but with more pain, on some accounts, than he chooses to express. However, he has done what he conceived himself bound to do; and if every zealous lover of his species were to express his feelings in like manner, to the best of his ability,... more...