The works of the English poets. With prefaces, biographical and critical, by S. Johnson, Volum 581790 |
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Resultat 1-5 av 25
Side 4
... tender paffion man delights to find , The lov'd perfections of a female mind ! Bleft were the days , when wisdom held her reign , And shepherds fought her on the filent plain ; With Truth fhe wedded in the secret grove , Immortal Truth ...
... tender paffion man delights to find , The lov'd perfections of a female mind ! Bleft were the days , when wisdom held her reign , And shepherds fought her on the filent plain ; With Truth fhe wedded in the secret grove , Immortal Truth ...
Side 5
... tender fighs ; eyes , And Love the last by these your hearts approve , These are the virtues that must lead to love . Thus fung the fwain ; and ancient legends fay , The maids of Bagdat verified the lay : Dear to the plains , the ...
... tender fighs ; eyes , And Love the last by these your hearts approve , These are the virtues that must lead to love . Thus fung the fwain ; and ancient legends fay , The maids of Bagdat verified the lay : Dear to the plains , the ...
Side 8
... tender Zara will be moft undone ! Big fwell'd my heart , and own'd the powerful maid , When faft fhe drops her tears , as thus she said : " Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain , " Whom Zara's breaking heart implor❜d in vain ...
... tender Zara will be moft undone ! Big fwell'd my heart , and own'd the powerful maid , When faft fhe drops her tears , as thus she said : " Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain , " Whom Zara's breaking heart implor❜d in vain ...
Side 9
... tender ftrain , Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain : At morn she came those willing flocks to lead , Where lilies rear them in the watery mead ; From early dawn the live - long hours fhe told , Till late at filent eve she penn ...
... tender ftrain , Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain : At morn she came those willing flocks to lead , Where lilies rear them in the watery mead ; From early dawn the live - long hours fhe told , Till late at filent eve she penn ...
Side 16
... tender hand , With each disastrous tale . There let me oft , retir'd by day , In dreams of paffion melt away , Allow'd with thee to dwell : There waste the mournful lamp of night , Till , Virgin , thou again delight To hear a British ...
... tender hand , With each disastrous tale . There let me oft , retir'd by day , In dreams of paffion melt away , Allow'd with thee to dwell : There waste the mournful lamp of night , Till , Virgin , thou again delight To hear a British ...
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
AARON HILL Ægyptus æther ancient ariſe beauteous behold beneath bleft boaſt breathe charm chearful clime coaft courſe CYMBELINE deep delight deſcription diftant dreft duft eaſe eclogue erft ev'n facred fair Falernum fame fcene feek fhade fhall fhepherds fhore fide filent firſt fleece flocks flowers foft folemn fome fong fons ftill ftores ftrain fubject fuch fwains fweet fwell Gaul green GRONGAR HILL groves hand heart hills ifle induſtry iſle lofty loom lov'd maid meaſure moſt mountains Mufe mufic Muſe numbers nymphs o'er paffions paftures plains pleaſure poet proud raiſe realms rife riſe rocks ruins ſcene ſeems ſhade ſhall ſhe ſheep ſhore ſkill ſky ſpeed ſpread ſtate ſtep ſtill ſtream ſtreets ſtrong ſwain ſweet thee thefe Theocritus theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand toil trade uſe vale vallies verſe virtue wave wealth whofe whoſe wild wind wiſhes woods wool youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 24 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Side 98 - Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car.
Side 35 - midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, That from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.
Side 41 - And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair...
Side 87 - O thou, whose spirit most possest The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast! By all that from thy prophet broke. In thy divine emotions spoke ; Hither again thy fury deal, Teach me but once like him to feel : His cypress wreath my meed decree, And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee ! ODE TO SIMPLICITY.
Side 76 - What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger...
Side 114 - I lie ; While the wanton Zephyr sings. And in the vale perfumes his wings ; While the waters murmur deep ; While the shepherd charms his sheep; While the birds unbounded fly, And with music fill the sky, Now, ev'n now. my joys run high.
Side 112 - And see the rivers how they run, Through woods and meads, in shade and sun Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life, to endless sleep...
Side 111 - Below me trees unnumber'd rise, Beautiful in various dyes : The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, The yellow beech, the sable yew, The slender fir, that taper grows, ' The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs. And beyond the purple grove, Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love...
Side 56 - Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, whose ev'ry vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; Thou need'st but take the pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe who own thy genial land.