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Adam Angels ANTISTROPHE arms art thou Avernus bard Beelzebub Behold beneath birds blaze blest bosom breast breath bright brow Cacus call'd canst celestial Cherubim creature dart dear death delight divine dost thou dread dwell earth eternal eyes fair falchions Faunus fear fierce fire flame FLESH flowers form'd fruit gentle glory GOD THE FATHER gold grace grove hallow'd hand hands united heart heaven heavenly hell Hence human infernal John Throckmorton Jove Latian length light lips live lofty Lord Lucifer lyre mighty monster Muse ne'er numbers nymphs o'er once pain Pallas Phoebus praise radiant Satan SCENE seat seem'd Serpent shade shine shore sigh sing skies song soul sound speak spirit stars stream sweet Tartarus tears thee thine thou art thou hast thou shalt thyself verse voice Volan WILLIAM HAYLEY wings wish wretched youth
Страница 84 - Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary...
Страница 59 - Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss ; Ah, that maternal smile, it answers yes ! I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was.
Страница x - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought ; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went clown With twice four hundred men.
Страница 2 - Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings Ere you proudly question ours ! PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.
Страница 1 - 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.
Страница 62 - Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile; There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar;" And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Страница 95 - Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repelled; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried 'Adieu...
Страница 96 - Adieu!' At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in every blast, Could catch the sound no more: For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age Is wet with Anson's tear: And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead.
Страница 42 - Oh, could'st thou speak, As in Dodona once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious ask The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The clock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts Recov'ring, and misstated setting right...
Страница 69 - Heaven as some have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things, That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings. But thou hast little need. There is a book...