The British poetical miscellanySilvester Sikes & Company, 1800 |
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anguiſh Bad Company behold beneath black crows blaft bleffing bleft bofom breaſt breath BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY CHARLOTTE SMITH cold cry'd dæmons dear death defpair diftant dy'd E'en eaſe ev'ry eyes faid fair fate fcene fear feek feen fhade fhall fhed fhore fhould fide figh filent finks fkies fleep flow'r fmiles foft fome fons foon foothe forrow foul fpirit ftill ftranger ftream fuch fure fweet grave grief hand heart Heav'n hour Huddersfield laft laſt loft lov'd maid mourn muft muſt ne'er o'er paffion pain paſt peace PINDAR pity pleaſure poor pow'r PRICE ONE PENNY Printed and Sold R. B. SHERIDAN reft rife S. T. COLERIDGE Sally Green ſcene ſhall ſhe SIKES ſpread tear tender thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou toil Tom Moore trembling Twas vale whofe Whoſe wild wind wretched
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Страница 7 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Страница 8 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch. And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Страница 2 - Our portion is not large, indeed; But then, how little do we need, For nature's calls are few! In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do.
Страница 5 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Страница 8 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Страница 3 - How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Страница 6 - Some village-Hampden, that with dauntlefs breaft The little Tyrant of his fields withftood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft, Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.. Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to defpife, To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land, And read their...
Страница 5 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Страница 5 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, , The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Страница 6 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.