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 14
... Pursues her close thro ' ev'ry lane of life , Nor misses once the track , but presses on ; Till , forc'd at last to the tremendous verge , At ace she sinks to everlasting ruin . Sure ' tis a serious thing to die ! my 14 THE GRAVE . )
... Pursues her close thro ' ev'ry lane of life , Nor misses once the track , but presses on ; Till , forc'd at last to the tremendous verge , At ace she sinks to everlasting ruin . Sure ' tis a serious thing to die ! my 14 THE GRAVE . )
Side 22
... ruin . Accursed thing ! O where shall fancy find A proper name to call thee by , expressive Of all thy horrors ? pregnant womb of ills ! Of temper so transcendently malign , That toads and serpents of most deadly kind Compar'd to THE ...
... ruin . Accursed thing ! O where shall fancy find A proper name to call thee by , expressive Of all thy horrors ? pregnant womb of ills ! Of temper so transcendently malign , That toads and serpents of most deadly kind Compar'd to THE ...
Side 30
... ning senates to command , The threats of pain and ruin to despise , To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land , And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes , Their lot forbad ; nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues 30 ELEGY I.
... ning senates to command , The threats of pain and ruin to despise , To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land , And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes , Their lot forbad ; nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues 30 ELEGY I.
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... ruin great ; tho ' fall'n , yet not forlorn ; Though mortal , yet not every where beset With Death in ev'ry shape ! But he , impatient To be completely wretched , hastes to fill up The measure of his woes - ' Twas Man himself Brought ...
... ruin great ; tho ' fall'n , yet not forlorn ; Though mortal , yet not every where beset With Death in ev'ry shape ! But he , impatient To be completely wretched , hastes to fill up The measure of his woes - ' Twas Man himself Brought ...
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... ruin . Blast the design Great God of Hosts , let not thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at ambition's shrine ! Yet say , should Tyrants learn at last to feel , And the loud din of battle cease to bray ; Should dove - eyed Peace o'er ...
... ruin . Blast the design Great God of Hosts , let not thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at ambition's shrine ! Yet say , should Tyrants learn at last to feel , And the loud din of battle cease to bray ; Should dove - eyed Peace o'er ...
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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.