The Life, and Posthumous Writings, of William Cowper, Esqr, Том 3

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Benjamin Johnson, Jacob Johnson, and Robert Johnson, 1805
 

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Стр. 102 - Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently press'd, press gently mine, My Mary!
Стр. 101 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary...
Стр. 101 - Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary!
Стр. 117 - Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away: But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life.
Стр. 154 - 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.
Стр. 204 - In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care.
Стр. 118 - d not to bestow. But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them ; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld ; And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repell'd ; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried — "Adieu...
Стр. 118 - No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear : And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date : But misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case.
Стр. 103 - But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last — My Mary!
Стр. 101 - THE twentieth year is wellnigh past .*. Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah, would that this might be the last! My Mary ! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow; 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary...

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