A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley].1758 |
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Side 38
... grace thy verdant fide , And tremble in thy golden stream ? Where are the bold , the bufy throngs , That rush'd impatient to the war , Or tun'd to peace triumphal fongs , And hail'd the passing car ? Along the folitary * road , Th ...
... grace thy verdant fide , And tremble in thy golden stream ? Where are the bold , the bufy throngs , That rush'd impatient to the war , Or tun'd to peace triumphal fongs , And hail'd the passing car ? Along the folitary * road , Th ...
Side 40
... grace their storied urn . Whilft Thou , with Rome's exalted genius join'd , Her fpear yet lifted , and her corflet brac'd , Can't tell the waves , can't tell the paffing wind Thy wond'rous tale , and chear the lift'ning wafte . Tho ...
... grace their storied urn . Whilft Thou , with Rome's exalted genius join'd , Her fpear yet lifted , and her corflet brac'd , Can't tell the waves , can't tell the paffing wind Thy wond'rous tale , and chear the lift'ning wafte . Tho ...
Side 53
... grace Culloden's day ? Wait we ' till faithlefs France fubmiffive bow Beneath that Hero's delegated fpear , Whofe light'ning fmote Rebellion's haughty brow , And scatter'd her vile rout with horror in the rear ? O Land of Freedom , Land ...
... grace Culloden's day ? Wait we ' till faithlefs France fubmiffive bow Beneath that Hero's delegated fpear , Whofe light'ning fmote Rebellion's haughty brow , And scatter'd her vile rout with horror in the rear ? O Land of Freedom , Land ...
Side 54
... grace , ' Its ftated feat fome votive tablet found , And ftoried wonders dignified the place . b The Infula Tiberina , where there are still fome Small remains of the famous temple of Afculapius . Oft Oft from the balmy bleffings of ...
... grace , ' Its ftated feat fome votive tablet found , And ftoried wonders dignified the place . b The Infula Tiberina , where there are still fome Small remains of the famous temple of Afculapius . Oft Oft from the balmy bleffings of ...
Side 60
... grace , Give her foft Amelia's face . Mason , why this dull delay ? Hafte , to Sion haste away . There the Muse again shall ask , Nor thy hand forget its task ; Nor the Lyre it's strains refuse To the Patron of the Mufe ...
... grace , Give her foft Amelia's face . Mason , why this dull delay ? Hafte , to Sion haste away . There the Muse again shall ask , Nor thy hand forget its task ; Nor the Lyre it's strains refuse To the Patron of the Mufe ...
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A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies ... Collection Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1766 |
A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies ... Collection Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1765 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
bard beauty behold beneath bleffings bleft blifs boaſt bofom breaſt charms chearful Chlorinda cloſe cou'd courſe eaſe Ev'n ev'ry facred fafe fage fair fame fate fcene feat fenfe fhade fhall fhew fhou'd fhun figh filent fince firft firſt flow'rs fmile foft folar folemn fome fong fons foul freſh ftands ftate ftill ftream fuch fure fweet genius glory grace grove hand heart heav'n laſt Latian lefs loft lyre mind moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiads ne'er numbers Nymphs o'er paffion peace plain pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe purſue raiſe reafon reft rife ſcene ſhade ſhall ſhape ſhare ſhe ſhould ſky ſmile ſpeak ſpirit ſpread ſprings ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſweet taſk taſte thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand thro toil vale virtue Whilft whofe whoſe wife wings wiſh worfe wou'd youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 321 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air And, with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Side 322 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Side 317 - Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales and Ceres...
Side 318 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Side 28 - The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying.
Side 321 - And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 'Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath ! O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they wave,. Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
Side 319 - Muse? Night and all her sickly dews, Her Spectres wan, and Birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war.
Side 323 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Side 27 - Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, . This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were placed by Glycon.
Side 325 - Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.