Poems, with a memoir of the author

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Strona 514 - Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary...
Strona 169 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
Strona 213 - He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might, His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.
Strona 314 - He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel But who with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say —
Strona 217 - Stop thief, stop thief — a highwayman ! Not one of them was mute, And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space, The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race.
Strona 170 - How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair, Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace,...
Strona 64 - Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, Pillow and bobbins all her little store: Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, Shuffling her threads about the livelong day, Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light; She for her humble sphere by nature fit, Has little understanding and no wit, Receives no praise; but though her lot be such, (Toilsome and indigent) she renders much; Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true — A truth the brilliant...
Strona 212 - For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came ; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs —
Strona 241 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
Strona 240 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness. Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...

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