The British anthology; or, Poetical library, Объемы 7-8 |
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Стр. 12
... numbers rise We hardly fix , bewilder'd in our choice . See where enthroned in adamantine state , Proud of her bards , imperial Windsor sits ; Where choose thy seat , in some aspiring grove Fast by the slowly - winding Thames ; or where ...
... numbers rise We hardly fix , bewilder'd in our choice . See where enthroned in adamantine state , Proud of her bards , imperial Windsor sits ; Where choose thy seat , in some aspiring grove Fast by the slowly - winding Thames ; or where ...
Стр. 47
... numbers were to count the sands That ride in whirlwind the parch'd Libyan air ; Or waves that , when the blustering North embroils The Baltic , thunder on the German shore . Subject not then , by soft emollient arts , This grand expense ...
... numbers were to count the sands That ride in whirlwind the parch'd Libyan air ; Or waves that , when the blustering North embroils The Baltic , thunder on the German shore . Subject not then , by soft emollient arts , This grand expense ...
Стр. 54
... numbers could unfold The omens of the year : what seasons teem With what diseases ; what the humid South Prepares , and what the demon of the East : But you perhaps refuse the tedious song . Besides , whatever plagues in heat , or cold ...
... numbers could unfold The omens of the year : what seasons teem With what diseases ; what the humid South Prepares , and what the demon of the East : But you perhaps refuse the tedious song . Besides , whatever plagues in heat , or cold ...
Стр. 107
... st me sing . O hear our prayer , O hither come , From thy lamented Shakspeare's tomb , On which thou lovest to sit at eve , Musing o'er thy darling's grave : O queen of numbers ! once again Animate some chosen ODE TO FANCY . 107.
... st me sing . O hear our prayer , O hither come , From thy lamented Shakspeare's tomb , On which thou lovest to sit at eve , Musing o'er thy darling's grave : O queen of numbers ! once again Animate some chosen ODE TO FANCY . 107.
Стр. 108
British anthology. O queen of numbers ! once again Animate some chosen swain , Who , fill'd with unexhausted fire , May boldly smite the sounding lyre ; Who with some new , unequall'd song , May rise above the rhyming throng , O'er all ...
British anthology. O queen of numbers ! once again Animate some chosen swain , Who , fill'd with unexhausted fire , May boldly smite the sounding lyre ; Who with some new , unequall'd song , May rise above the rhyming throng , O'er all ...
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Amang Aspasio auld auld lang syne bard beneath birks of Aberfeldy blast blate blithe blood bloom bonnie bosom braes brave breast breath BRIG charms chyle Cutty-sark dear dearie death deil delight ev'n fair fame fancy Farewell fate fear flowers frae Gilpin grace green groves Halloween hear heart Heaven hope hour ilka JOHN GILPIN JOHN SHARPE labour lass lassie life's lo'es mair Mary maun mind mony morning mourn Muse Nature's ne'er never night numbers o'er owre pain peace pleasure poor pride rage roar round scenes seem'd shade shine sing skies smile song soon soul spring stream sugh sweet TAM O'SHANTER taste tears tender thee There's thine thou toil TUNE-The Twas wander waste wave weary weel Whyles wild winds winter wretch young Jessie youth
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Стр. 8 - Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,' That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Стр. 7 - Like streamer long and gay, Till loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung, A bottle swinging at each side As hath been said or sung. The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all, And every soul cried out, Well done ! As loud as he could bawl.
Стр. 12 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown : May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more...
Стр. 12 - Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot ; But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, Tis now become a history little...
Стр. 33 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...
Стр. 33 - 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.
Стр. 9 - Inclined to tarry there ; For why ? — his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong ; So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still.
Стр. 30 - Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Стр. 29 - His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. — Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main: But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.
Стр. 30 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is...