The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Том 49Samuel Johnson C. Bathurst, 1779 |
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Страница 17
... breath of ancient arts ; Ah ! little thought she her returning verfe Should fing our darling fubject to thy fhade . And does the myftic veil , from mortal beam , Involve thofe eyes where every virtue fimil❜d , And all thy Father's ...
... breath of ancient arts ; Ah ! little thought she her returning verfe Should fing our darling fubject to thy fhade . And does the myftic veil , from mortal beam , Involve thofe eyes where every virtue fimil❜d , And all thy Father's ...
Страница 19
... breathe the fcented gale : On Baia's viny coaft ; where peaceful seas , Fan'd by kind zephyrs , ever kiss the fhore ; And funs unclouded fhine , through purest air : Or in the spacious neighbourhood of Rome ; Far - fhining upward to the ...
... breathe the fcented gale : On Baia's viny coaft ; where peaceful seas , Fan'd by kind zephyrs , ever kiss the fhore ; And funs unclouded fhine , through purest air : Or in the spacious neighbourhood of Rome ; Far - fhining upward to the ...
Страница 23
... Breathing a kind oblivion o'er their woes , And love and mufic melt their fouls away . From feeble Juftice fee how rafh Revenge , Trembling , the balance fnatches ; and the fword , Fearful himself , to venal ruffians gives . 185 190 195 ...
... Breathing a kind oblivion o'er their woes , And love and mufic melt their fouls away . From feeble Juftice fee how rafh Revenge , Trembling , the balance fnatches ; and the fword , Fearful himself , to venal ruffians gives . 185 190 195 ...
Страница 25
... breath'd . What would you fay , ye conquerors of earth ! Ye Romans ! could you raife the laurel'd head ; Could you the country fee , by feas of blood , And the dread toil of ages , won fo dear ; Your pride , your triumph , and supreme ...
... breath'd . What would you fay , ye conquerors of earth ! Ye Romans ! could you raife the laurel'd head ; Could you the country fee , by feas of blood , And the dread toil of ages , won fo dear ; Your pride , your triumph , and supreme ...
Страница 27
... breathing deep : No spreading ports their facred arms extend : No mighty moles the big intrusive storm , From the calm ftation , roll refounding back . An almoft total defolation fits , A dreary ftillness , faddening o'er the coast ...
... breathing deep : No spreading ports their facred arms extend : No mighty moles the big intrusive storm , From the calm ftation , roll refounding back . An almoft total defolation fits , A dreary ftillness , faddening o'er the coast ...
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Abra æther ANTISTROPHE beneath beſt blaſt bleft boaſt breaſt breathe Britiſh Britons charms chearful deep deferts Delia delight dreft eaſe eclogue Ev'n facred fafe fair fame fancy fcene fear fecret feems fhade fhall fhepherds fhore fighs filent fing firft firſt flame flaves focial foft fome fong fons footh foul fprings ftate ftill ftreams fuch funk fweet fwelling genius glory Goddeſs grace Greece heart heaven himſelf infpiring laft land laſt Liberty loft lov'd maid meaſure mind mix'd moſt Mufe Muſe muſt numbers nymph o'er paffions peace plain pleaſe pleaſure pour'd pride rage rais'd raiſe reafon reign rife rofe Rome round ſcene ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhore ſhould ſky ſmile ſpirit ſpread ſtate ſtill ſtorm ſtrain ſweet temperate vale tender thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand toil treaſure tyrant vale virtue waſte whofe whoſe wild wiſdom youth
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Страница 218 - 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.
Страница 237 - Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
Страница 235 - 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...
Страница 230 - While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont> And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light : While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes : So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name ! ODE TO PEACE.
Страница 280 - 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.
Страница 235 - He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.
Страница 213 - 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.
Страница 244 - The redbreast oft, at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.
Страница 201 - 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...
Страница 236 - When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, — The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known!