A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes, Volum 2

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Robert Dodsley
J. Dodsley, 1770 - 336 sider

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Side 223 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.
Side 221 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate. Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Side 219 - Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Side 218 - A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Side 16 - And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth; By foreign arts domestic faults to mend, Enlarge my notions, and my views extend; The useful science of the world to know, Which books can never teach, or pedants show.
Side 17 - That liberty corrupted Rome has loft ; " Where Science in the arms of Peace is laid, " And plants her palm beneath the olive's made.
Side 225 - Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry 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 222 - Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers And wake the purple year! The attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of Spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Side 212 - For he, deep-judging sage, beheld With pain the triumphs of the field : And when the charioteer drew nigh, And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Side 271 - I should turn back on th' hardest part and laugh. Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled, And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten. Courage! another'll finish the first triplet. Thanks to thee. Muse, my work begins to shorten. There's thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet. 'Tis done! count how you will, I warr'nt there's fourteen.

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