A Collection of Eighteenth Century VerseMargaret Lynn Macmillan, 1907 - Всего страниц: 484 |
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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 ? Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein , Or swept the ...
... 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 ? Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein , Or swept the ...
Стр. 8
... thou may'st wings display , and altars raise , And torture one poor word ten thousand ways ; Or , if thou wouldst thy different talents suit , 210 Set thy own songs , and sing them to thy lute . " He said : but his last words were ...
... thou may'st wings display , and altars raise , And torture one poor word ten thousand ways ; Or , if thou wouldst thy different talents suit , 210 Set thy own songs , and sing them to thy lute . " He said : but his last words were ...
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Absalom and Achitophel Balclutha bards BAUCIS AND PHILEMON beams beauty beneath bless bonnie Braes of Yarrow breast breath busk Carthon cease to sigh charms cheerful Clessámmor clouds crown dark death delight Dryden Dunciad ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fear Fingal flowers frae grace grave green Grongar Hill groves hand hear heart heaven heroic couplet hill Jenny king labour Lochaber Look lyre maid maun mighty mind morning mourn Muse ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er passions plain pleasure poem Pope Pope's Popish Plot pow'r praise pride proud redemption draweth nigh rise Robin Gray round satire scene shade shine sing skies smile soft song sorrow soul sound spread strain swain sweet Swift tear thee thou thought toil trembling Twas vale verse voice wave weep Whig wild wind ye Britons youth ΙΙΟ ΙΟ
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Стр. 85 - All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good. And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear,
Стр. 323 - Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain...
Стр. 254 - 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. 322 - 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. 253 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Стр. 325 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew...
Стр. 326 - Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad, shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear...
Стр. 318 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Стр. 321 - Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose; I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — Amidst the swains to show my...
Стр. 250 - 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...