Bell's Classical Arrangement of Fugitive Poetry, Объемы 9-10J. Bell, 1789 |
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Стр. 56
... sooth reflection's sickening hour , Or bid the cheerless brow of sorrow smile ; Far from these dreary scenes for ever torn , No more shall animate each rapturous strain , Now sweetly smiling , now with looks of scorn , Hiding her heart ...
... sooth reflection's sickening hour , Or bid the cheerless brow of sorrow smile ; Far from these dreary scenes for ever torn , No more shall animate each rapturous strain , Now sweetly smiling , now with looks of scorn , Hiding her heart ...
Стр. 76
... sooth to soft delight : Ye images of Woe , no more recoil : Be Life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night . Now , when fierce Winter arm'd with wasteful power , Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar ; How sweet to sit in the ...
... sooth to soft delight : Ye images of Woe , no more recoil : Be Life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night . Now , when fierce Winter arm'd with wasteful power , Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar ; How sweet to sit in the ...
Стр. 85
... ! what means this silence in the grove , Where oft the wild - notes sooth'd the love - sick boy ? Why cease in Mary's bower the songs of Love , The songs of Love , of Innocence , and Joy ? When bright the lake reflects the setting ray , ...
... ! what means this silence in the grove , Where oft the wild - notes sooth'd the love - sick boy ? Why cease in Mary's bower the songs of Love , The songs of Love , of Innocence , and Joy ? When bright the lake reflects the setting ray , ...
Стр. 98
... sooth your souls in sickness , grief , or pain , With the sad solace of eternal sleep . Yet will I praise you , triflers as ye are , More than those preachers of your fav'rite creed , Who proudly swell the brazen throat of War , Who ...
... sooth your souls in sickness , grief , or pain , With the sad solace of eternal sleep . Yet will I praise you , triflers as ye are , More than those preachers of your fav'rite creed , Who proudly swell the brazen throat of War , Who ...
Стр. 126
... soar seraphic heights ; while to her voice Ten thousand Hierarchies of angels harp Symphonious , and with dulcet harmonies Usher the song rejoicing . I meanwhile , To sooth thee in these irksome hours of pain , 126 Mon. I. MONODIES .
... soar seraphic heights ; while to her voice Ten thousand Hierarchies of angels harp Symphonious , and with dulcet harmonies Usher the song rejoicing . I meanwhile , To sooth thee in these irksome hours of pain , 126 Mon. I. MONODIES .
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beauteous beauty beneath blest bliss bloom bosom breast breath bright charms chear Columbel Dames dart death dread Dryads ELEGY ev'ry eyes fair fame Fancy fate faultering flame fled flowers fond frown gentle gild gloom glow grace green grief grove hand head heart heaven hope hour House of Guise JAMES BEATTIE Knight life's lonely lov'd Lycon lyre maid Mary's tomb mind MONODY morn mote mourn MUSAEUS Muse Nature's ne'er Nymphs o'er pain pale peace perdie pity plain pow'r quoth rage rise rose round rovd scene shade sighs silence skies smile soft song soon sooth sorrows soul Spenser spleen sprightly Squire strain stream Suadela swain sweet tear thee thine thou thought thro toil tomb trembling vale virgin train virtue Virtue's waves ween weeping wend wight wild WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE wind wing youth
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Стр. 63 - PITY the sorrows of a poor old man ! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span : Oh ! give relief—and Heaven will bless your store. These tatter'd cloaths my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years : And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek, Has been the channel to a
Стр. 62 - to despair, And left the world to wretchedness and me. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh! give relief—and Heaven will bless your store.
Стр. 62 - oppression forc'd me from my cot, My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn. My daughter—once the comfort of my age ! Lur'd by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage, My tender wife—sweet soother of my care ! Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell—ling'ring fell a
Стр. 63 - drew me from my road; For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode. (Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!) Here craving for a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial forc'd me from the door, To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. Oh
Стр. 62 - take me to your hospitable dome, Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold I Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, For I am poor and miserably old. Should I reveal the source of every grief, If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not
Стр. 181 - the progress of a Poetical Genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as A MINSTREL ; that is, as an itinerant Poet and Musician ; — a
Стр. 139 - beauty, life, they never know, But frown on all that pass, a monument of wo. XLIX. Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, Scarce fill the circle of one summer day, Shall the poor gnat with discontent and rage Exclaim, that nature hastens to decay, If but a cloud
Стр. 135 - murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. XXXIX. The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling plowman stalks afield ; and hark ! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings ; Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs ; Slow tolls the village-clock the
Стр. 145 - of time and change, Which in ourselves, alas, we daily trace. Yet at the darken"d eye, the wither'd face, Or hoary hair, I never will repine : But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace, Of candor, love, or sympathy divine, Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is
Стр. 164 - obscene, and griesly phantom dwell; Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell; No wizard mutters the tremendous spell, Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon; Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell, To ease of fancied pangs the laboring moon, Or