The Works of the British Poets: With Lives of the Authors, Tom 17

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Mitchell, Ames, and White, 1819
 

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Strona 89 - Proud names, who once the reins of empire held ; In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd ; Chiefs, graced with scars and prodigal of blood ; Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood ; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given ; And saints who taught and led the way to heaven.
Strona 90 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart, Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Strona 89 - While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu; And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague.
Strona 384 - They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools Rustling they work their way; no holt escapes Their curious search. With quick sensation now The fuming vapour stings ; flutter their hearts, And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth In louder symphonies.
Strona 354 - And hurry through the woods; with hasty step Rustling, and full of hope ; now driven on heaps They push, they strive ; while from his kennel sneaks The conscious villain. See ! he skulks along, Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals Purloin'd.
Strona 230 - Poetic buckets for dry wells. School-helps I want, to climb on high, Where all the ancient treasures lie, And there unseen commit a theft On wealth in Greek exchequers left.
Strona 77 - Nor think him all thy own. To-morrow, in the church to wed, Impatient, both prepare ! But know, fond maid ; and know, false man, That Lucy will be there ! " Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear, This bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet.
Strona 354 - While, in th' adjacent bush, poor Philomel (Herself a parent once, till wanton churls Despoil'd her nest) joins in her loud laments, With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe. For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh ! how glorious 'tis To right th...
Strona 346 - Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs, And bold defiance. High upon his throne, Borne on the back of his proud elephant, Sits the great chief of Tamur's glorious race : Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd, And rein th...

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