English Poets of the Eighteenth CenturyErnest Bernbaum C. Scribner's Sons, 1918 - Всего страниц: 364 |
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Стр. 2
... poor . Strong meat indulges vice , and pampering food Creates diseases , and inflames the blood . But what's sufficient to make nature strong , And the bright lamp of life continue long , I'd freely take , and as I did possess , The ...
... poor . Strong meat indulges vice , and pampering food Creates diseases , and inflames the blood . But what's sufficient to make nature strong , And the bright lamp of life continue long , I'd freely take , and as I did possess , The ...
Стр. 13
... Poor , little , pretty , fluttering thing , Must we no longer live together ? And dost thou prune thy trembling wing To take thy flight , thou know'st not whither ? Thy humorous vein , thy pleasing folly , Lies all neglected , all ...
... Poor , little , pretty , fluttering thing , Must we no longer live together ? And dost thou prune thy trembling wing To take thy flight , thou know'st not whither ? Thy humorous vein , thy pleasing folly , Lies all neglected , all ...
Стр. 15
... noble sin ; whilst luxury Employed a million of the poor , And odious pride a million more ; Envy itself , and vanity , Were ministers of industry ; Their darling folly - fickleness In diet , furniture , BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE 15.
... noble sin ; whilst luxury Employed a million of the poor , And odious pride a million more ; Envy itself , and vanity , Were ministers of industry ; Their darling folly - fickleness In diet , furniture , BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE 15.
Стр. 16
... poor , Dared cry aloud , " The land must sink For all its fraud ' ; and whom d'ye think The sermonizing rascal chid ? A glover that sold lamb for kid ! The least thing was not done amiss , Or crossed the public business , But all the ...
... poor , Dared cry aloud , " The land must sink For all its fraud ' ; and whom d'ye think The sermonizing rascal chid ? A glover that sold lamb for kid ! The least thing was not done amiss , Or crossed the public business , But all the ...
Стр. 19
... poor sailors stand amazed and tremble , While the hoarse thunder , like a bloody trumpet , Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters , Quick to devour them . Such shall the noise be , and the wild disorder ( If things eternal may be like ...
... poor sailors stand amazed and tremble , While the hoarse thunder , like a bloody trumpet , Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters , Quick to devour them . Such shall the noise be , and the wild disorder ( If things eternal may be like ...
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AUGUSTUS MONTAGU TOPLADY auld auld lang syne bard beauty beneath blessed blest bliss breast breath charms clouds crown dear delight divine dread e'er earth eternal fair fame fancy fate fear Fingal flowers folly fools frae gale grace grave Grongar Hill hand happy hear heart Heaven hill human JOHN GILBERT COOPER king labour live Lubberkin lyre Matthew Prior mind moral murmurs Muse nature Nature's ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er Ossian pain passions peace plain pleasing pleasure poet poor praise pride proud rage raptures RICHARD JAGO rills rise round scene shade shine sigh sing skelpin smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spread spring swain sweet tears thee thine thou thought toil trembling truth Twas vale virtue voice wandering wave wild wind wings wretch wyllowe youth
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Стр. 183 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Стр. 218 - As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Стр. 185 - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Стр. 236 - Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to Thee for dress ; Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; Foul, I to the Fountain fly, Wash me, Saviour, or I die...
Стр. 143 - Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee. Leave, ah leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
Стр. 184 - Await alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Стр. 160 - How sleep the Brave T_TOW sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell, a weeping hermit, there...
Стр. 269 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense. Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Стр. 215 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Стр. 61 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying...