Poems, Volum 2

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R. & W. A. Bartow, J. Robinson, printer, 1819
 

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Side 40 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
Side 162 - Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men, Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Side 50 - There stands the messenger of truth : there stands The legate of the skies ! — His theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
Side 156 - At random without honour, hope, or peace. From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. But...
Side 250 - Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own ; And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep...
Side 161 - No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. The redbreast warbles still, but is content With slender notes and more than half suppressed.
Side 39 - Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Side 161 - The night was winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon, Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Side 103 - He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes Discover countries, with a kindred heart Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. O Winter, ruler of th...
Side 27 - Whom call we gay? That honour has been long The boast of mere pretenders to the name. The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest. The peasant too, a witness of his song, Himself a songster, is as gay as he.

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