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Strona 187 - Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And, unburied, remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes, And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Strona 189 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.
Strona 160 - THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty •, In both the last. The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Strona 185 - Flush'd with a purple grace, He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath: he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus...
Strona 215 - I wol yow telle a tale which that I Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk, As preved by his wordes and his werk. He is now deed and nayled in his cheste, I prey to god so yeve his soule reste.
Strona 219 - In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold him in the same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer or the Romans Virgil.
Strona 168 - Excites us to arms With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.
Strona 170 - GRAND CHORUS. As from the power of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the blest above : So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky.
Strona 191 - But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! Our frailties help, our vice control, Submit the senses to the soul; And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thy hand, and hold them down. Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow ; And lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way.