A Collection of Eighteenth Century VerseMargaret Lynn Macmillan, 1907 - Всего страниц: 484 |
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Стр. xii
... Thou last great prophet of tautology ! Even I , a dunce of more renown than they , Was sent before but to prepare thy way : And , coarsely clad in Norwich drugget , came To teach the nations in thy greater name . 35 My warbling lute ...
... Thou last great prophet of tautology ! Even I , a dunce of more renown than they , Was sent before but to prepare thy way : And , coarsely clad in Norwich drugget , came To teach the nations in thy greater name . 35 My warbling lute ...
Стр. 2
... Thou last great prophet of tautology ! Even I , a dunce of more renown than they , Was sent before but to prepare thy way : And , coarsely clad in Norwich drugget , came To teach the nations in thy greater name . 35 My warbling lute ...
... Thou last great prophet of tautology ! Even I , a dunce of more renown than they , Was sent before but to prepare thy way : And , coarsely clad in Norwich drugget , came To teach the nations in thy greater name . 35 My warbling lute ...
Стр. 3
... Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand ; St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time , Not even the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme , Though they in number as in sense excel ; So just , so like tautology , they fell , That , pale ...
... Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand ; St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time , Not even the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme , Though they in number as in sense excel ; So just , so like tautology , they fell , That , pale ...
Стр. 6
... thou from me Pangs without birth , and fruitless industry . Let Virtuosos in five years be writ , 150 Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit . Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage , Make Dorimant betray , and Loveit rage ...
... thou from me Pangs without birth , and fruitless industry . Let Virtuosos in five years be writ , 150 Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit . Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage , Make Dorimant betray , and Loveit rage ...
Стр. 7
... Thou art my blood , where Jonson has no part : What share have we in nature , or in art ? Where did his wit on learning fix a brand , And rail at arts he did not understand ? 175 Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein , Or swept ...
... Thou art my blood , where Jonson has no part : What share have we in nature , or in art ? Where did his wit on learning fix a brand , And rail at arts he did not understand ? 175 Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein , Or swept ...
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ÆLLA beauty beneath bless breast breath Britons brow charms cheerful clouds courser cries crowd crown Cuddy delight divine dread e'er earth Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fear flame fools frae gnome grace grave Grongar Hill groves hair hand happy harmonious band head hear heart Heaven hill honour Jenny kid delight king labour Lobbin Clout Lochaber look lute lyre maid MARK AKENSIDE mighty mind mortal mourn muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er pain passions plain pleasure pow'r praise pride proud rage rills rise round sacred scene shade shining sigh silent sing skies smile soft solemn song soul sound spread strain swain sweet sylph tears temperate vale Thalestris thee thine thou thought Timotheus toil trembling Twas Umbriel vale verse voice waves wind wings wonder wretched ΙΟ
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Стр. 71 - Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns ; To him no high, no low, no great, no small : He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
Стр. 306 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden -flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place...
Стр. 240 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Стр. 303 - The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed; These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled.
Стр. 306 - To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Стр. 236 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Стр. 7 - A man so various, that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts, and nothing long; But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Стр. 5 - Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Стр. 11 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown : He raised a mortal to the skies: She drew an angel down.
Стр. 319 - Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit : For a patriot, too cool ; for a drudge, disobedient ; And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, Sir, To eat mutton cold, and...