Selections from Cowper's Poems

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Macmillan, 1883 - 234 страници
 

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Страница 26 - Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world ; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on th
Страница 158 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take : The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Страница 131 - Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the playplace of our early days ; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
Страница 233 - THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Страница 82 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.
Страница 220 - His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. — Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main: But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.
Страница 81 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war Might never reach me more...
Страница 133 - How soft the music of those village bells Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet ! now dying all away, Now pealing loud again and louder still, Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on.
Страница 169 - Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, The wine is left behind ! Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise.
Страница 139 - The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. Nature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God.

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