Poems by Mr. GrayWilliam Sleater, 1768 - 187 sider |
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Side 40
... , Into the Draw'rs and China pry , Papers and books , a huge Imbroglio ! Under a tea - cup he might lie , Or creas'd , like dogs - ears in a folio . On On the first marching of the troops The Muses , 40 A LONG STORY .
... , Into the Draw'rs and China pry , Papers and books , a huge Imbroglio ! Under a tea - cup he might lie , Or creas'd , like dogs - ears in a folio . On On the first marching of the troops The Muses , 40 A LONG STORY .
Side 41
Thomas Gray. On the first marching of the troops The Muses , hopeless of his pardon , Convey'd him underneath their hoops To a small closet in the garden . So Rumour fays . ( Who will , believe ) But that they left the door a - jarr ...
Thomas Gray. On the first marching of the troops The Muses , hopeless of his pardon , Convey'd him underneath their hoops To a small closet in the garden . So Rumour fays . ( Who will , believe ) But that they left the door a - jarr ...
Side 68
... Muse's ray With orient hues , unborrow'd of the Sun : Yet fhall he mount , and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate , Beneath the Good how far but far above the Great . THE * Διὸς πρὸς ἔρνιχα θεῖον . Olymp . 2 ...
... Muse's ray With orient hues , unborrow'd of the Sun : Yet fhall he mount , and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate , Beneath the Good how far but far above the Great . THE * Διὸς πρὸς ἔρνιχα θεῖον . Olymp . 2 ...
Side 178
... Muse the style of Cambria's fons , Or the rude gabble of the Huns , Or the broader dialect Of Caledonia fhe affect , Or stake , Hibernia , thy still ranker brogue ? On I I. 3 . On this terrestrial ball The tyrant Fashion 178 THE BA R D ,
... Muse the style of Cambria's fons , Or the rude gabble of the Huns , Or the broader dialect Of Caledonia fhe affect , Or stake , Hibernia , thy still ranker brogue ? On I I. 3 . On this terrestrial ball The tyrant Fashion 178 THE BA R D ,
Populære avsnitt
Side 65 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Side 61 - Man's feeble race what ills await ! . Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove.
Side 102 - Hoarse he bays with hideous din, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; And long pursues, with fruitless yell, The father of the powerful spell.
Side 52 - Tis folly to be wise. HYMN TO ADVERSITY DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When...
Side 31 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th
Side 68 - Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far ! — but far above the...
Side 22 - Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to ev'ry watry God, Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd: Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. A Fav'rite has no friend! From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd, Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all, that glisters, gold.
Side 147 - 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 137 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
Side 145 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...