The British poetical miscellany |
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arms beneath blood boſom breaſt breath bring BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY charms cheer child cold comfort dark dead dear death deep deſpair dread ev'ry eyes face fair fate fear feel fire firſt flow give grave grief hand head hear heard heart Heav'n hope hour kind land laſt leaves light live look maid mind morn mother mourn muſt native nature never night o'er once pain peace pity plain poor pow'r pride reſt riſe round ſaid ſay ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſoon ſorrow ſoul ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tear tell tender thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought toil trembling true Twas vale virtue voice wave whoſe wild wind wretched young youth
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Страница 4 - 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 4 - 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 1 - 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 2 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Страница 7 - How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Страница 1 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Страница 6 - What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show?
Страница 9 - Why did all-creating Nature Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards ; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.
Библиография
| Заглавие | The British poetical miscellany |
| Автор | British poetical miscellany |
| Издател | Sikes & Company, 1805 |
| Оригиналът е от | Оксфордският университет |
| Цифровизирана на | 26 септ. 2006 |
| Експортиране на описанието | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |