The union: or Select Scots and English poems |
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Страница 17
While virtue was his sword , and heav'n his shield , Without controul the warrior swept the field ; Loaded with spoils , triumphant he return'd , And half her swarthy Sons fad Ethiopia mourn'd . But since thy fagging piety decay'd ...
While virtue was his sword , and heav'n his shield , Without controul the warrior swept the field ; Loaded with spoils , triumphant he return'd , And half her swarthy Sons fad Ethiopia mourn'd . But since thy fagging piety decay'd ...
Страница 18
Transmissive worth adorns the pious * Son , The father's virtues with the father's throne . Lo ! there he stands : he , who the rage subdu'd Of Ammon's sons , and drench'd his sword in blood . And doft thou , Ahaz , Judah's scourge ...
Transmissive worth adorns the pious * Son , The father's virtues with the father's throne . Lo ! there he stands : he , who the rage subdu'd Of Ammon's sons , and drench'd his sword in blood . And doft thou , Ahaz , Judah's scourge ...
Страница 44
Ah ! I remember well yon beachen spray , There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay ; ' Twas there great cato's form first met his eye , In all the pomp of free - born majesty ; My son , he cry'd , observe this mein with awe ...
Ah ! I remember well yon beachen spray , There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay ; ' Twas there great cato's form first met his eye , In all the pomp of free - born majesty ; My son , he cry'd , observe this mein with awe ...
Страница 46
Must these go forth from my maternal hand To deal their insults thro ' a peaceful land , And boast while Freedom bleeds , and Virtue groans , That “ ISIS taught Rebellion to her Sons ? ” Forbid it heaven ! and let my rising waves ...
Must these go forth from my maternal hand To deal their insults thro ' a peaceful land , And boast while Freedom bleeds , and Virtue groans , That “ ISIS taught Rebellion to her Sons ? ” Forbid it heaven ! and let my rising waves ...
Страница 48
No more , my son , the rural reed employ , Nor trill the trifling strain of empty joy ; No more thy love - resounding fonnets fuit ... unite ; To shake yon tow'rs , when Malice rears her crest , Shall all iny sons in filence idly reft ?
No more , my son , the rural reed employ , Nor trill the trifling strain of empty joy ; No more thy love - resounding fonnets fuit ... unite ; To shake yon tow'rs , when Malice rears her crest , Shall all iny sons in filence idly reft ?
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Страница 57 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Страница 57 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Страница 60 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Страница 61 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Страница 57 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, , The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Страница 58 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
Страница 61 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Страница 54 - Lie slaughter'd on their native ground ; Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door; In smoky ruins sunk they lie. The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner sees afar His all become the prey of war ; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Страница 33 - While Spring shall pour his Show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing Tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport, Beneath thy ling'ring light: While sallow Autumn fills thy Lap with Leaves, Or Winter yelling thro' the troublous Air, Affrights thy shrinking Train, And rudely rends thy Robes.
Страница 23 - O'er all my artless songs preside, My footsteps to thy temple guide, To offer at thy turf-built shrine, In golden cups no costly wine, No murder'd fading of the flock, But flowers and honey from the rock. O nymph with...