The Poetical Works of James Thomson, Bind 2

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Little, Brown,., 1854
 

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Side 220 - Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.
Side 220 - Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.
Side 181 - SEE, Winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train : Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, These ! that exalt the soul to solemn thought, And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot...
Side 218 - Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile, And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd Evil, is no more ; The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
Side 193 - Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life, One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think; The conscious heart of Charity would warm, And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; The social tear would rise, the social sigh; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Refining still, the social passions work.
Side 183 - Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm; And up among the loose disjointed cliffs And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan, Resounding long in listening fancy's ear.
Side 221 - As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Side 109 - Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns and gilded streams till all | The stretching landscape into smoke decays...
Side 220 - But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not THEE, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring...
Side 15 - Amid the glad Creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. The stealing Shower is scarce to patter heard, By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.

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