https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Mon, 29 Jun 2026 20:25:26 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17156 Sun, 29 Jul 2007 12:50:46 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17156 Prompts thee beyond thy native pitch to soar;
And, imped with borrowed plumes of index-lore,
Range through the vast of science unconfined!

Not for thy wing was such a flight designed:
Know thy own strength, and wise attempt no more;
But lowly skim round error's winding shore,
In quest of paradox from sense refined

Much hast thou written - more than will be read;
Then cease from Shakespeare thy unhallowed rage;
Nor by a fond o'er-weening pride misled,
Hope fame by injuring the sacred dead:

Know, who would comment well his godlike page,
Critic, must have a heart as well as head.]]> Prompts thee beyond thy native pitch to soar;
And, imped with borrowed plumes of index-lore,
Range through the vast of science unconfined!

Not for thy wing was such a flight designed:
Know thy own strength, and wise attempt no more;
But lowly skim round error's winding shore,
In quest of paradox from sense refined

Much hast thou written - more than will be read;
Then cease from Shakespeare thy unhallowed rage;
Nor by a fond o'er-weening pride misled,
Hope fame by injuring the sacred dead:

Know, who would comment well his godlike page,
Critic, must have a heart as well as head.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=15292 Sun, 29 Jul 2007 12:44:31 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=15292 Where my four brothers round about me stand,
And four fair sisters smile with graces bland,
The goodly monument of happier days;

And think how soon insatiate Death, who preys
On all, has cropped the rest with ruthless hand;
While only I survive of all that band,
Which one chaste bed did to my father raise;

It seems that like a column left alone,
The tottering remnant of some splendid fane,
'Scaped from the fury of the barbarous Gaul,

And wasting Time, which has the rest o'erthrown;
Amidst our house's ruins I remain
Single, unpropped, and nodding to my fall.]]> Where my four brothers round about me stand,
And four fair sisters smile with graces bland,
The goodly monument of happier days;

And think how soon insatiate Death, who preys
On all, has cropped the rest with ruthless hand;
While only I survive of all that band,
Which one chaste bed did to my father raise;

It seems that like a column left alone,
The tottering remnant of some splendid fane,
'Scaped from the fury of the barbarous Gaul,

And wasting Time, which has the rest o'erthrown;
Amidst our house's ruins I remain
Single, unpropped, and nodding to my fall.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16911 Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:10:52 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16911 (Menagiana, tom.iv.)

Capricious wray a sonnet needs must have;
I ne'er was so put to 't before--a sonnet!
Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it:
"Tis good, howe'er, t' have conquered the first stave.
Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,"
Said I, and found myself i' the midst o' the second.
If twice four verses were but fairly reckoned,
I shall turn back on th' hardest part and laugh.
Thus far, with good success I think I've scribbled,
And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten,
Courage! another'll finish the first triplet.
Thanks to thee, muse, my work begins to shorten.
There's thirteen lines got through, driblet by driblet,
'Tis done! count how you will, I warr'nt there's fourteen.]]> (Menagiana, tom.iv.)

Capricious wray a sonnet needs must have;
I ne'er was so put to 't before--a sonnet!
Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it:
"Tis good, howe'er, t' have conquered the first stave.
Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,"
Said I, and found myself i' the midst o' the second.
If twice four verses were but fairly reckoned,
I shall turn back on th' hardest part and laugh.
Thus far, with good success I think I've scribbled,
And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten,
Courage! another'll finish the first triplet.
Thanks to thee, muse, my work begins to shorten.
There's thirteen lines got through, driblet by driblet,
'Tis done! count how you will, I warr'nt there's fourteen.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16910 Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:10:11 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16910
Prelate, whose steady hand and watchful eye
The sacred vessel of religion guide,
Secure from superstition's dangerous tide
And fateful rocks of infidelity;
Think not, in this bad age of obloquy,
When Christian virtues Christians dare deride
And worth by party zeal alone is tried,
To escape the poisoned shafts of calumny;
No--though the tenor of thy blameless life,
Like His whose flock is to thy care consigned,
Be spent in teaching truth and doing good,
Yet, amongst the sons of bigotry and strife
Thou too, like Him, must hear thy good maligned,
Thy person slandered, and thy truths withstood.]]>
Prelate, whose steady hand and watchful eye
The sacred vessel of religion guide,
Secure from superstition's dangerous tide
And fateful rocks of infidelity;
Think not, in this bad age of obloquy,
When Christian virtues Christians dare deride
And worth by party zeal alone is tried,
To escape the poisoned shafts of calumny;
No--though the tenor of thy blameless life,
Like His whose flock is to thy care consigned,
Be spent in teaching truth and doing good,
Yet, amongst the sons of bigotry and strife
Thou too, like Him, must hear thy good maligned,
Thy person slandered, and thy truths withstood.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16909 Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:09:35 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16909
O master of the heart, whose magic skill
The close recesses of the soul can find,
Can rouse, becalm, and terrify the mind,
Now melt with pity, now with anguish thrill,
Thy moral page while virtuous precepts fill,
Warm from the heart, to mend the age designed,
Wit, strength, truth, decency all conjoined
To lead our youth to good, and guard from ill:
O long enjoy what thou so well hast won--
The grateful tribute of each honest heart
Sincere, nor hackneyed in the ways of men;
At each distressful stroke their true tears run,
And nature, unsophisticate by art,
Owns and applauds the labours of thy pen.]]>
O master of the heart, whose magic skill
The close recesses of the soul can find,
Can rouse, becalm, and terrify the mind,
Now melt with pity, now with anguish thrill,
Thy moral page while virtuous precepts fill,
Warm from the heart, to mend the age designed,
Wit, strength, truth, decency all conjoined
To lead our youth to good, and guard from ill:
O long enjoy what thou so well hast won--
The grateful tribute of each honest heart
Sincere, nor hackneyed in the ways of men;
At each distressful stroke their true tears run,
And nature, unsophisticate by art,
Owns and applauds the labours of thy pen.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16908 Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:09:00 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16908
O born in luckless hour, with every muse
And every grace to foe! what wayward fate
Drives thee with fell and unrelenting hate
Each choicest work of genius to abuse?
Sufficed it not with sacrilegious views
Great Shakespeare's awful shade to violate:
And his fair Paradise contaminate,
Whom impious Lauder blushes to accuse?
Must Pope, thy friend, mistaken, hapless bard!
(To prove no sprig of laurel ever can grow
Unblasted by thy venom) must he groan
Now daubed with flattery, now by censure scarred,
Disguised, deformed, and made the public show
In motley weeds and colours not his own?]]>
O born in luckless hour, with every muse
And every grace to foe! what wayward fate
Drives thee with fell and unrelenting hate
Each choicest work of genius to abuse?
Sufficed it not with sacrilegious views
Great Shakespeare's awful shade to violate:
And his fair Paradise contaminate,
Whom impious Lauder blushes to accuse?
Must Pope, thy friend, mistaken, hapless bard!
(To prove no sprig of laurel ever can grow
Unblasted by thy venom) must he groan
Now daubed with flattery, now by censure scarred,
Disguised, deformed, and made the public show
In motley weeds and colours not his own?]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16907 Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:08:25 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=16907
In evil hour did Pope's declining age,
Deceived and dazzled by the tinsel show
Of wordy science and the nauseous flow
Of mean, officious flatteries, engage
Thy venal quill to deck his laboured page
With ribald nonsense, and permit to strew
Amidst his flowers, the baleful weeds that grow
In the unblessed soil of rude and rancorous rage.
Yet this the avenging muse ordainéd so,
When, by his counsel or weak sufferance,
To thee were trusted Shakespeare's fame and fate:
She doomed him down the stream of time to tow
Thy foul, dirt-loaded hulk, or sink perchance,
Dragged to oblivion by the foundering weight.]]>
In evil hour did Pope's declining age,
Deceived and dazzled by the tinsel show
Of wordy science and the nauseous flow
Of mean, officious flatteries, engage
Thy venal quill to deck his laboured page
With ribald nonsense, and permit to strew
Amidst his flowers, the baleful weeds that grow
In the unblessed soil of rude and rancorous rage.
Yet this the avenging muse ordainéd so,
When, by his counsel or weak sufferance,
To thee were trusted Shakespeare's fame and fate:
She doomed him down the stream of time to tow
Thy foul, dirt-loaded hulk, or sink perchance,
Dragged to oblivion by the foundering weight.]]>