The Works of the English Poets, Том 26Samuel Johnson C. Bathurst, 1779 |
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Страница 49
... flower with fofter arts . Kindly he heard , and did his flame approve , And own'd the warrior worthy of her love . Flora , whofe happy laws the seasons guide , Who does in fields and painted meads prefide , And crowns the gardens with ...
... flower with fofter arts . Kindly he heard , and did his flame approve , And own'd the warrior worthy of her love . Flora , whofe happy laws the seasons guide , Who does in fields and painted meads prefide , And crowns the gardens with ...
Страница 76
... flowers is - dreft , Joy abounds in every breast , For thee thy people all , for thee the year is bleft . SONG FOR THE KING'S BIRTH - DAY , L MAY 28 , 1716 . 1 I. AY thy flowery garlands by , Ever - blooming gentle May ! Other honours ...
... flowers is - dreft , Joy abounds in every breast , For thee thy people all , for thee the year is bleft . SONG FOR THE KING'S BIRTH - DAY , L MAY 28 , 1716 . 1 I. AY thy flowery garlands by , Ever - blooming gentle May ! Other honours ...
Страница 84
... Flowers , bloom and fair increase With the feafons take their turn ; From thy tributary feas Tides of various wealth attend thee ; Seas and feafons all befriend thee . III . Here on thy banks , to mate the skies , Augufta's hallow'd ...
... Flowers , bloom and fair increase With the feafons take their turn ; From thy tributary feas Tides of various wealth attend thee ; Seas and feafons all befriend thee . III . Here on thy banks , to mate the skies , Augufta's hallow'd ...
Страница 87
... flowers , or cut the bushy grafs : Thither , fure firft of living race came I , And fat by chance , my dropping nets to dry . My fcaly prize , in order all difplay'd , By number on the greenfword there I lay'd , My captives , whom or in ...
... flowers , or cut the bushy grafs : Thither , fure firft of living race came I , And fat by chance , my dropping nets to dry . My fcaly prize , in order all difplay'd , By number on the greenfword there I lay'd , My captives , whom or in ...
Страница 97
... flowers to blow . Aloft ; immortal reigns the plant unknown , With borrow'd life , and vigour not his own . A PO E M , TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE LORD PRIVY- SEAL , ON THE PROSPECT OF PEACE . Sacerdos " Fronde fuper Mitram , & felici comptus ...
... flowers to blow . Aloft ; immortal reigns the plant unknown , With borrow'd life , and vigour not his own . A PO E M , TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE LORD PRIVY- SEAL , ON THE PROSPECT OF PEACE . Sacerdos " Fronde fuper Mitram , & felici comptus ...
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Ah willow Albion's arms Atreus Atrides beneath blefs bleft blood boaſt breaſt Britain's Britannia's Britiſh brow Cæfar's cauſe charms crown diftant divine doft dreadful Ev'n eyes facred fafe faid fair fam'd fame fate fatire fceptre fcorn fear feas fecret fhade fhall fhining fhore fhould fide fight filent fing fire firft firſt fix'd flain fleep fmiling foes fome fong footh foul ftand ftill ftreams fuch fwain fweet fwell fword Gaul goddeſs gods grace hand heart heaven hecatomb hero himſelf Iliad Jove juſt kings lefs lyre maid monarch mortal Mufe Muſe muſt ne'er Nereids numbers nymph o'er paffion peace pleaſure praiſe pride prieſt race rage raiſe reign rife riſe ſhade ſhall ſhare ſhe ſhine ſhore ſkies ſmile ſpeak ſpread ſpring ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtill ſtood ſweet thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand verſe whofe whoſe youth
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Страница 187 - Oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires ! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Страница 195 - Tyber's fhore, (Nor mean the tafk) each breathing buft explore, Line after line with painful patience trace, This Roman grandeur, that Athenian grace ; Vain care of parts ; if, impotent of foul, Th...
Страница 53 - The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. " Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, Be finest at...
Страница 189 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend : To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Страница 124 - O'er his paternal hills of snow, And into these tremendous speeches Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Страница 206 - The Sun's meridian rays Veil the horizon in one mighty blaze : Nor moon nor star in Heaven's blue arch is seen With kindly rays to silver o'er the green, Grateful to fairy eyes ; they secret take Their rest, and only wretched mortals wake.
Страница 120 - And view the hero with insatiate eyes. ' In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales Propitious rise to swell the British sails. Hither the fame of England's monarch brings The vows and friendships of the neighb'ring kings; Mature in wisdom, his extensive mind Takes in the blended interests of mankind, The world's great patriot.
Страница 190 - If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove: Twas there of Just and Good he...
Страница 109 - Accept, great Anne, the tears their memory draws, Who nobly perish'd in their sovereign's cause : For thou in pity bid'st the war give o'er, Mourn'st thy slain heroes, nor wilt venture more. Vast price of blood on each victorious day ! (But Europe's freedom doth that price repay.) Lamented triumphs ! when one breath must tell That Marlborough conquer'd, and that Dormer fell.
Страница 200 - Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric, stands, And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To gravel walks, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies ; Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow, And chints, the rival of the showery bow.