Specimens of the British poets, Volum 2W. Suttaby, 1809 |
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Side 14
... weeping from Belinda flew , Umbriel , a dusky , melancholy sprite , As ever sullied the fair face of light , Down to the central earth , his proper scene , Repair'd to search the gloomy cave of Spleen . Swift on his sooty pinions flits ...
... weeping from Belinda flew , Umbriel , a dusky , melancholy sprite , As ever sullied the fair face of light , Down to the central earth , his proper scene , Repair'd to search the gloomy cave of Spleen . Swift on his sooty pinions flits ...
Side 22
... weeps and prays , Her heart still dictates , and her hand obeys . Relentless walls ! whose darksome round ... weep ! Though cold like you , unmov'd and silent grown , I have not yet forgot myself to stone . All is not Heav'n's ...
... weeps and prays , Her heart still dictates , and her hand obeys . Relentless walls ! whose darksome round ... weep ! Though cold like you , unmov'd and silent grown , I have not yet forgot myself to stone . All is not Heav'n's ...
Side 23
... weep is all they now can do . Then share thy pain , allow that sad relief ; Ah , more than share it , give me all thy grief . Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid , Some banish'd lover , or some captive maid ; They live ...
... weep is all they now can do . Then share thy pain , allow that sad relief ; Ah , more than share it , give me all thy grief . Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid , Some banish'd lover , or some captive maid ; They live ...
Side 25
... weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate , or emblaze the floors ; No silver saints , by dying misers giv'n , Here brib'd the rage of ill - requited heav'n : But such plain roofs as piety could raise , And only vocal ...
... weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate , or emblaze the floors ; No silver saints , by dying misers giv'n , Here brib'd the rage of ill - requited heav'n : But such plain roofs as piety could raise , And only vocal ...
Side 26
... , but kindle at the view , Repent old pleasures , and solicit new ; Now turn'd to heav'n , I weep my past offence , Now think of thee , and curse my innocence . Of all affliction taught a lover yet , ' Tis 26 ALEXANDER POPE .
... , but kindle at the view , Repent old pleasures , and solicit new ; Now turn'd to heav'n , I weep my past offence , Now think of thee , and curse my innocence . Of all affliction taught a lover yet , ' Tis 26 ALEXANDER POPE .
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
beauty behold beneath blest bliss bloom bosom breast breath bright charms cheerful dear death delight dread dreams dydd e'er ECLOGUE Eurydice Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame Fancy fate fear flowers fond gentle glow golden reign grace grief groves hand hear heart Heav'n hour JOHN HENRY MOORE lord lov'd lyre maid maze of Fate mind MONODY morn mournful Muse Nature's ne'er night numbers nymph o'er pain pale peace pensive Petrarch pity pleas'd pleasure pow'r praise pray'r pride proud rage raptures reign rills rise round sacred scene scorn shade shine sighs sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound sprite strain sweet sweet oblivion sylphs tear tender Thalestris thee thine thou thought thro toil trembling Twas vale virtue wave weep wild wind wings wretch wyfe wylle wythe ynne youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 192 - 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 325 - I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene.
Side 239 - And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so...
Side 15 - Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar: When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow : Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. Hear how Timotheus...
Side 14 - In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic, if too new, or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
Side 189 - Await alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can...
Side 239 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep...
Side 188 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Side 221 - Condemn'da needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Side 316 - My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene, The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! November chill blaws loud wi...