A Collection of Poems: In Six Volumes, Том 6J. Hughs, 1765 |
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Страница 12
... native clime " Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven . " Such are the words of Hermes : fuch the praife , O Naiads , which from tongues cœleftial waits yet Your Your bounteous deeds . From bounty iffueth power : And ( 12 )
... native clime " Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven . " Such are the words of Hermes : fuch the praife , O Naiads , which from tongues cœleftial waits yet Your Your bounteous deeds . From bounty iffueth power : And ( 12 )
Страница 22
... tongue , Ne'er fhalt thou blush to honour ; to affert From all that scorned vice or flavish fear hath fung . Nor fhall the blandishment of Tuscan ftrings Warbling at will in pleasure's myrtle bower ; Nor fhall the bafer notes to Celtic ...
... tongue , Ne'er fhalt thou blush to honour ; to affert From all that scorned vice or flavish fear hath fung . Nor fhall the blandishment of Tuscan ftrings Warbling at will in pleasure's myrtle bower ; Nor fhall the bafer notes to Celtic ...
Страница 27
... power , that rules him , shares ; Here let the bard , whose daftard tongue Leaves public arguments unfung , Bid public praise farewell : Let him to fitter climes remove , Far Far from the heroe's and the patriot's love , And ( 27 )
... power , that rules him , shares ; Here let the bard , whose daftard tongue Leaves public arguments unfung , Bid public praise farewell : Let him to fitter climes remove , Far Far from the heroe's and the patriot's love , And ( 27 )
Страница 34
... tongues impure a " Let not my peaceful name be made a lure " The fnares of favage tyranny to aid : " Let not my words be impious chains to draw " The free - born foul , in more than brutal awe , " To faith without affent , allegiance ...
... tongues impure a " Let not my peaceful name be made a lure " The fnares of favage tyranny to aid : " Let not my words be impious chains to draw " The free - born foul , in more than brutal awe , " To faith without affent , allegiance ...
Страница 37
... tongue Thee ftill , her friend and benefactor , name : O ! never , Hoadly , in thy country's eyes , May impious gold , or pleasure's gaudy prize , Make public virtue , public freedom vile ; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That ...
... tongue Thee ftill , her friend and benefactor , name : O ! never , Hoadly , in thy country's eyes , May impious gold , or pleasure's gaudy prize , Make public virtue , public freedom vile ; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That ...
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bard beauty behold beneath beſt bleffings bleft boaſt bofom breaſt cauſe charms Chlorinda diftant eaſe Ev'n facred fafe fage fair fame fate fcene feat fenfe fhade fhall fhew fhun figh filent fince firft firſt flow'rs fmile foft folar folemn fome fong fons foul freſh friendſhip ftands ftate ftill fuch fure fweet fwelling genius glory Goddeſs grace grove gueſt guife hand heart heav'n himſelf juft laſt Latian lefs loft lyre mind moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiads ne'er numbers Nymphs o'er paffion pain peace plain pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe purſue raiſe reft rife rofe ſcene ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſky ſpeak ſpirit ſpread ſprings ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſtream ſweet taſk taſte thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand toil truth vale virtue Whilft whofe Whoſe wife wings wiſh youth
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Страница 387 - Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pidur'd urn Thoughts, that breathe, and words, that burn. But ah ! 'tis heard no more — Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now ? though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban Eagle bear Sailing with
Страница 391 - Thy fon is gone. He refts among the Dead. " The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born, " Gone to falute the rifing Morn. " Fair laughs the Morn, and foft the Zephyr blows, " While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
Страница 386 - This pencil take (fhe faid) whofe colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic Tears. III. 2.
Страница 384 - II. i. Man's feeble race what Ills await, Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Difeafe, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, fad refuge from the ftorms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my Song, difprove, And juftify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heav'nly Mufe ? Night, and all her fickly dews, Her
Страница 387 - tis heard no more — Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now ? though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban Eagle bear Sailing with fupreme dominion Through the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Mufe's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the
Страница 389 - (Loofe his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Matter's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep forrows of his lyre. * Hark, how each giant-oak, and defart cave, * Sighs to the torrent's
Страница 390 - The characters of hell to trace. " Mark the year, and mark the night, " When Severn fhall re-echo with affright " The fhrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that ring, " Shrieks of an agonizing King! " She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
Страница 382 - A WAKE, /Eolian lyre, awake, * And give to rapture all thy trembling firings. From Helicon's harmonious fprings A thoufand rills their mazy progrefs take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the ; rich ftream of mufic winds along Deep, majeftic, fmooth and ftrong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the
Страница 390 - they lie, * Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale: * Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail; * The famifh'd Eagle fcreams, and paffes by. * Dear loft companions of my tuneful art, * Dear, as the light, that vifits thefe fad eyes, * Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, ' Ye died amidft your dying country's cries — ' No more I weep. They do not deep.
Страница 391 - From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs *' The fcourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round him wait! ** Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd, " And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2. " Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, " Low on his funeral couch he lies ! " No pitying heart, no eye afford " A tear to grace his obfequies. »** Is the fable