Bell's Classical Arrangement of Fugitive Poetry, Объемы 9-10J. Bell, 1789 |
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Стр. 11
... thou whose bosom foreign sorrow heaves , Whose eyes can stream for anguish not thine own ; Whose heart the white ... thou mournest thou shalt see , Sad consolation granted to thy tears . " Now on the summit of a cloud - built height El ...
... thou whose bosom foreign sorrow heaves , Whose eyes can stream for anguish not thine own ; Whose heart the white ... thou mournest thou shalt see , Sad consolation granted to thy tears . " Now on the summit of a cloud - built height El ...
Стр. 18
... thou wrot'st and acted'st to atone , Thy failings were the age's , but thy wit , Thy parts and dying penitence , thine own . But now prevailing o'er the hubbub wild , The clanging trumpet kindles great acclaim ; And all around are ...
... thou wrot'st and acted'st to atone , Thy failings were the age's , but thy wit , Thy parts and dying penitence , thine own . But now prevailing o'er the hubbub wild , The clanging trumpet kindles great acclaim ; And all around are ...
Стр. 37
... how little now , look down and see ! Then scan thyself - and know it is decreed , That thou as little and as low shalt be . Behold ! above yon monumental piles , The king of El . V. ELEGIES LOCAL , SYMPATHETIC , & c . 37.
... how little now , look down and see ! Then scan thyself - and know it is decreed , That thou as little and as low shalt be . Behold ! above yon monumental piles , The king of El . V. ELEGIES LOCAL , SYMPATHETIC , & c . 37.
Стр. 40
... thou shalt yield , and " God be All in All . " Know , then shall come the period of thy sway , And this reanimated dust shall rise To hail thy victor on that glorious day , When the shrill trump shall rend the vaulted skies . Then from ...
... thou shalt yield , and " God be All in All . " Know , then shall come the period of thy sway , And this reanimated dust shall rise To hail thy victor on that glorious day , When the shrill trump shall rend the vaulted skies . Then from ...
Стр. 50
... Thou art gone - My guide , my friend , oh where , Where hast thou fled , and left me here behind ! My tenderest wish , my heart to Thee was bare , Oh , now cut off each passage to thy mind ! How dreary is the gulph , how dark , how void ...
... Thou art gone - My guide , my friend , oh where , Where hast thou fled , and left me here behind ! My tenderest wish , my heart to Thee was bare , Oh , now cut off each passage to thy mind ! How dreary is the gulph , how dark , how void ...
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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