The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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Side 8
... cruel irony ! these come too late ; And only mock whom they were meant to honor . Surely there's not a dungeon - slave that's buried In the highway , unshrouded and uncoffin'd , Eut lies as soft , and sleeps as sound as he . Sorry pre ...
... cruel irony ! these come too late ; And only mock whom they were meant to honor . Surely there's not a dungeon - slave that's buried In the highway , unshrouded and uncoffin'd , Eut lies as soft , and sleeps as sound as he . Sorry pre ...
Side 10
... cruel wantonness of pow'r ' Thinn'd states of half their people , and gave up To want the rest ; now , like a storm that's spent , Lie hush'd , and meanly sneak beneath thy covert , Vain thought ! to hide them from the genʼral scorn ...
... cruel wantonness of pow'r ' Thinn'd states of half their people , and gave up To want the rest ; now , like a storm that's spent , Lie hush'd , and meanly sneak beneath thy covert , Vain thought ! to hide them from the genʼral scorn ...
Side 19
... cruel tyrant , With all his guards and tools of pow'r about him , Is meditating new unheard - of hardships , Mocks his short arm , and quick as thought escapes , Where tyrants vex not , and the weary rest . Here the warm lover , leaving ...
... cruel tyrant , With all his guards and tools of pow'r about him , Is meditating new unheard - of hardships , Mocks his short arm , and quick as thought escapes , Where tyrants vex not , and the weary rest . Here the warm lover , leaving ...
Side 22
... cruel , And its vast body bleeds through ev'ry vein . What havoc hast thou made , foul monster , sin ! Greatest and first of ills ! the fruitful parent Of woes of all dimensions ! but for thee Sorrow had never been . All noxious things ...
... cruel , And its vast body bleeds through ev'ry vein . What havoc hast thou made , foul monster , sin ! Greatest and first of ills ! the fruitful parent Of woes of all dimensions ! but for thee Sorrow had never been . All noxious things ...
Side 35
... cruel hatred end , And the world's weary trav'ler rests in peace . Approach , vain child of fortune , pow'r , and fame ! Here learn a lesson from each speaking bust ; View on each lofty tomb the envied name Of worldly greatness ...
... cruel hatred end , And the world's weary trav'ler rests in peace . Approach , vain child of fortune , pow'r , and fame ! Here learn a lesson from each speaking bust ; View on each lofty tomb the envied name Of worldly greatness ...
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The Grave, a Poem. to Which Are Added an Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by ... Robert Blair Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2016 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 29 - 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. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Side 32 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Side 31 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Side 29 - 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?
Side 50 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Side 50 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Side 50 - 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.
Side 31 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
Side 3 - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.