What do you think?
Rate this book


461 pages, Hardcover
First published December 28, 1968
Crown me with roses while I live,This put me in mind of an old blues line: "Bring me flowers while I'm living; bring me flowers while I can smell."
Now your wines and ointments give:
After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have:
All are Stoics in the grave.
Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.
Of Roscommon's works, the judgement of the publick seems to be right. He is elegant, but not great; he never labours after exquisite beauties, and he seldom falls into gross faults. His versification is smooth, but rarely vigorous, and his rhymes are remarkably exact. He improved taste, if he did not enlarge knowledge, and he may be numbered among the benefactors to English literature.
In the poetical works of Dr. Swift there is not much upon which the critic can exercise his powers. They are often humourous, almost always light, and have the qualities which recommend such compositions, easiness and gaiety. They are, for the most part, what the author intended. The diction is correct, the numbers are smooth, and the rhymes exact. There seldom occurs a hard-laboured expression or a redundant epithet; all his verses exemplify his own definition of a good style, they consist of "proper words in proper places."I read the half-dozen Swift poems I had at hand, and would say that Dr. Johnson hit the nail on the head. Not that I didn't enjoy the poems; I did. But this was "easy," obvious poetry, for the most part. Nothing wrong with that; I like "easy" poetry. I enjoyed Johnson's essay, and I enjoyed Swift's poetry.
Almost every man's thoughts, while they are general, are right; and most hearts are pure while tempation is away. It is easy to awaken generous sentiments in privacy; to despise death when there is no danger; to glow with benevolence when there is nothing to be give.
If the flights of Dryden therefore are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.And I loved this passage from Pope's "Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady:"
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe!
In Memory of
CHR. PITT, clerk, M.A.
Very eminent
for his talents in poetry;
and yet more
for the universal candour of
his mind, and the primitive
simplicity of his manners
He lived innocent;
and died beloved.
Apr. 13, 1748.
Aged 48.
Men sometimes suffer by injudicious kindness; Philips became ridiculous, without his own fault, by the absurd admiration of his friends, who decorated him with honorary garlands, which the first breath of contradiction blasted.Much to my surprise, I have one poem by Philips on my shelves, "To Charlotte Pulteney." It's an ode to an infant ("Pleasing, without skill to please;"); I was predisposed to dislike it, but its simple charm won me over.
He has added nothing to English poetry....
Works of this kind may deserve praise, as proof of great industry, and great nicety of observation; but the highest praise, the praise of genius, they cannot claim. The noblest beauties of art are those which the effect is co-extended with rational nature, or at least with the whole circle of polished life; what is less than this can only be pretty, the plaything of fashion, and the amusement of a day.