A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes, Том 4

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Robert Dodsley
J. Dodsley, 1782

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Страница 360 - 1 have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : But let me that plunder forbear, She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, fhe averr'd, Who could rob a poor bird of its young : And I lov'd her the more, when I heard Such
Страница 154 - day; Should no falfe Kindnefs lure to loofe delight, Nor Praife relax, nor Difficulty fright; Should ,tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, And Sloth effufe her opiate fumes in vain ; Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; Should no Difeafe thy torpid veins invade, Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy
Страница 162 - eyes the ftreams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driv'ler and a fhow. The m teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face : Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty fpring ; And Sedley n curs'd the form that pleas'da king. Ye nymphs of rofy lips and radiant
Страница 156 - A frame No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleafure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific fcepters yield, War founds the trump, he rufhes to the field; Behold furrounding kings their
Страница 150 - obfervation with extenfive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager ftrife, And watch the bufy fcenes of crowded life; Then fay how hope and fear, defire and hate, O'erfpread with fnares the clouded maze of fate, Where wav'ring man, betray'd by
Страница 4 - Thy milder influence impart, Thy philofophic Tr,ain be there To foften, not to wound my heart, The generous fpark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive, • » Exact my own defects to fcan, What others are to feel, and know
Страница 359 - Not a pine in my grove is there feen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a fweet-briar twines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold : Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fifhes of gold.

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