The Beauties of English Poetry, Bind 1C. Spilsbury, 1804 |
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Side 17
... fond of FAME . Some she disgrac'd , and some with honours crown'd ; Unlike successes equal merits found . Thus her blind sister , fickle FORTUNE , reigns ; And , undiscerning , scatters crowns and chains . First at the shrine the ...
... fond of FAME . Some she disgrac'd , and some with honours crown'd ; Unlike successes equal merits found . Thus her blind sister , fickle FORTUNE , reigns ; And , undiscerning , scatters crowns and chains . First at the shrine the ...
Side 28
... fond youth , a candidate for praise ? " " " T is true , said I , not void of hopes I came , For who so fond , as youthful bards , of Fame ? But few , alas ! the casual blessing boast , So hard to gain , so easy to be lost . How vain ...
... fond youth , a candidate for praise ? " " " T is true , said I , not void of hopes I came , For who so fond , as youthful bards , of Fame ? But few , alas ! the casual blessing boast , So hard to gain , so easy to be lost . How vain ...
Side 31
... fond tale of the HEART ! ANACREONTIC . SYLVIA , a kiss or two I stole , That thrill'd me to the very soul : But , sooner than thou shalt complain , I'll place them on thy lips again . THE FIRE - SIDE . BY DR . COTTON . ELEGY ...
... fond tale of the HEART ! ANACREONTIC . SYLVIA , a kiss or two I stole , That thrill'd me to the very soul : But , sooner than thou shalt complain , I'll place them on thy lips again . THE FIRE - SIDE . BY DR . COTTON . ELEGY ...
Side 44
... fond we sip The luscious balm that lip bestows-- Unless our arms that Nymph enfold . Sweet is the rose - empurpled bow'r , And sweet the juice distilling bright In rills of crimson from the vine : But are they sweet , or have they pow'r ...
... fond we sip The luscious balm that lip bestows-- Unless our arms that Nymph enfold . Sweet is the rose - empurpled bow'r , And sweet the juice distilling bright In rills of crimson from the vine : But are they sweet , or have they pow'r ...
Side 55
... fond with gaudy shapes possess , As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun - beams , Or likeliest hovering dreams , The fickle pensioners of MORPHEUS ' train . But hail , thou Goddess , sage and holy ! IL PENSEROSO ...
... fond with gaudy shapes possess , As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun - beams , Or likeliest hovering dreams , The fickle pensioners of MORPHEUS ' train . But hail , thou Goddess , sage and holy ! IL PENSEROSO ...
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The Beauties of English Poetry: Selected from the Most Esteemed Authors ... Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2020 |
The Beauties of English Poetry: Selected from the Most Esteemed Authors ... Peter Pindar Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2016 |
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appear'd arms bards beauty behold blush boast bosom bow'r breast breath bring charms clouds cries crown'd Dæmons dear delight drest DRYAD EDWIN ELEGY ENGLISH POETRY ev'ry eyes fair FAIR-ONE fairies fame fate fav'rite fire flame fond gentle glowing Goddess gold golden grace grief grove HAFEZ haste hath hear heart Heav'n heave honour immortal Israel John Walker JULIA light loud lover MADRIGAL maid MIRTH mourn Muse ne'er night Nymph o'er OBERON ORPHEUS pale passion PETRARCH PINCHBECK PINDAR pity plain Pleas'd pleasure pow'r praise rais'd RICHARD JAGO rill rise roof scene seem'd shade shone shrine sigh sight sing Sir TOPAZ skies smile song sorrows soul sound spectres stream stretch'd swains sweet tale tears tempest THEBES thee thine thou thousand thro throne thunder tow'ring train vale ween wild wind wing wish WOLCOT youth ZEPHYR
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Side 53 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp and feast and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
Side 60 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower! Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek!
Side 58 - Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight. Smoothing the rugged brow of night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Gently o'er the accustomed oak; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!
Side 60 - Canace to wife That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar King did ride; And if aught else great Bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung Of turneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Side 48 - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings...
Side 53 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Side 58 - Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Side 56 - But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view...
Side 99 - She next the stately Bull implored ; And thus replied the mighty lord: "Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well ; I may, without offence, pretend To take the freedom of a friend. Love calls me hence ; a favourite cow Expects me near yon barley-mow; And when a lady's in the case, You know all other things give place. To leave you thus might seem unkind, But see, the Goat is just behind.
Side 21 - And live there men who slight immortal fame ? Who then with incense shall adore our name ? But, mortals ! know, 'tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. Rise ! Muses, rise ! add all your tuneful breath ; These must not sleep in darkness and in death.