The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Том 49

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779
 

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Страница 261 - his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thoufand odours from his dewy wings. O Mufic, fphere-defcended maid, Friend of pleafure, wifdom's aid, Why, Goddefs, why to us denied ? Lay'ft thou thy ancient lyre afide ? As in that lov'd Athenian bower, You learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic foul, O nymph
Страница 241 - Strange fhades o'erbrow the vallies deep, And holy Genii guard the rock, Its glooms embrown, its fprings unlock, While on its rich ambitious head, An Eden, like his own, lies fpread. I view that oak, the fancied glades among, By which as Milton lay, his evening ear, From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal
Страница 260 - And blew a blaft fo loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe. And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though fometimes, each dreary paufe between,
Страница 260 - Sad proof of thy diftrefsful ftate, Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. With eyes up-rais'd, as one infpir'd, Pale Melancholy fat retir'd, And from her wild fequefter'd feat, In notes by diftance made more fweet, Pour'd
Страница 254 - light: While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy flirinking train, And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy,
Страница 253 - fliows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant hours, and elves Who flept in buds the day, And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with fedge, And flieds the
Страница 260 - flung, Her buikins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an infpiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'd fitters, and their chafte-ey'd queen. Satyrs and
Страница 279 - beautiful eclogue, without paying the tribute of admiration fo juftly due to the following nervous lines. " What if the lion in his rage I meet !— Oft in the duft I view his printed feet: And, fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger rouz'd, he fcours the groaning plain
Страница 306 - Still would her touch the ftrain prolong, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, . She call'd on Echo ftill through all the fong; And where her fweeteft theme flie chofe, A foft refponfive voice was heard at every
Страница 264 - was almoft loft in Art. Of fofter mold the gentle Fletcher came, The next in order, as the next in name. With pleas'd attention 'midft his fcenes we find Each glowing thought, that warms the female mind; Each melting figh, and every tender tear, The lover's wiflies, and the virgin's fear. His

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