A Complete Edition of the Poets of Great Britain..: Swift. Thompson. Watts. Hamilton. A. Philips. G. West. Collins. Dyer. Shenstone. Mallet. Akenside. HarteJohn & Arthur Arch, ... and for Bell & Bradfute & I. Mundell & Company, Edinburgh., 1794 |
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ANTISTROPHE beauty behold beneath blefs bleft breaft breath charms Dean dear death defcending defire delight divine dreft earth ECLOGUE Ev'n eyes facred fafe faid fair fame fate fatire fave fcene fecret feems feen fenfe fhade fhall fhine fhore fhould fhow fide filk fing firft firſt fkies flain flame fleep fmile foft fome fong fons foon forrow foul fpirit fpread fpring ftand ftill ftrain ftream fubject fuch funk fure fwain fweet fwell glory grace heart heaven himſelf honour juft king laft lefs loft Lord maid mind moſt mufe muft muſt ne'er never numbers nymph o'er paffion pleafing pleaſe pleaſure poet praife praiſe pride profe rage reafon reft reign rife rofe round ſcene ſhall ſkies ſky ſtate ſtill thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand toil verfe virtue Whig whofe wife youth
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Страница 152 - I'll venture for the vole.) Six deans, they say, must bear the pall : (I wish I knew what king to call.) Madam, your husband will attend The funeral of so good a friend.
Страница 227 - Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death And all the sad variety of pain.
Страница 200 - Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot...
Страница 308 - It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in: that bringeth the princes to nothing; he maketh the judges of the earth as vanity.
Страница 417 - Twas this deprived my soul of rest, And rais'd such tumults in my breast ; For while I gaz'd, in transport tost, My breath was gone, my voice was lost : My bosom glow'd ; the subtle flame Ran quick through all my vital frame ; O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; My ears with hollow murmurs rung. In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd ; My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd ; My feeble pulse forgot to play ; I fainted, sunk, and died away.
Страница 532 - 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 537 - And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.
Страница 150 - As Rochefoucault his Maxims drew From Nature, I believe them true ; They argue no corrupted mind In him ; the fault is in mankind. This maxim more than all the rest Is thought too base for human breast, ' In all distresses of our friends We first consult our private ends, While Nature, kindly bent to ease us, Points out some circumstance to please us.
Страница 234 - Great Source of day, best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On Nature write with every beam his praise.
Страница 10 - Then stepp'd aside to fetch them drink, Fill'da large jug up to the brink, And saw it fairly twice go round ; Yet (what is wonderful !) they found, 'Twas still replenish'd to the top, As if they ne'er had touch'da drop.