A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes, Том 2

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Robert Dodsley
J. Hughs, 1765
 

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Стр. 322 - Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Стр. 321 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Стр. 324 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th
Стр. 54 - Seek to be good, but aim not to be great: A woman's noblest station is retreat; Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
Стр. 326 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.
Стр. 312 - The chariot marks the rolling ring ; And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes, And shouts, pursue him as he flies. Triumphant to the goal return'd, With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd ; And now along th...
Стр. 385 - ... second : If twice four verses were but fairly reckon'd I should turn back on the hardest part, and laugh. Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled, And of twice seven lines have clear got o'er ten. Courage ! Another'll finish the first triplet ; Thanks to the muse, my work begins to shorten, There's thirteen lines got through, driblet by driblet, 'Tis done!
Стр. 325 - Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers And wake the purple year! The attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of Spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Стр. 47 - To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, If high exalted on the Throne of Wit, Near Me and Homer thou afpire to...

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