The Works of the English Poets, Том 26Samuel Johnson C. Bathurst, 1779 |
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Страница 108
... stand , And breathing labours of the sculptor's hand , Where Kneller's art fhall paint the flying Gaul , And Bourbon's woes fhall fill the story'd wall ; Heirs of thy blood shall o'er their bounteous board Fix Europe's guard , thy ...
... stand , And breathing labours of the sculptor's hand , Where Kneller's art fhall paint the flying Gaul , And Bourbon's woes fhall fill the story'd wall ; Heirs of thy blood shall o'er their bounteous board Fix Europe's guard , thy ...
Страница 112
... stand , To raise his queen , and fave a finking land . The wealthiest glebe to ravenous Spaniards known He marks , and makes the golden world our own , Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize , And keep the store with undefiring ...
... stand , To raise his queen , and fave a finking land . The wealthiest glebe to ravenous Spaniards known He marks , and makes the golden world our own , Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize , And keep the store with undefiring ...
Страница 113
... stands And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands . Britain's Spectators shall their strength combine To mend our morals , and our taste refine , Fight virtue's cause , stand up in wit's defence , Win us from vice , and laugh us into ...
... stands And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands . Britain's Spectators shall their strength combine To mend our morals , and our taste refine , Fight virtue's cause , stand up in wit's defence , Win us from vice , and laugh us into ...
Страница 133
... stand In verdant arches on the fertile land ; Beneath her shade the tawny Indians rove , Or hunt , at large , through the wide echoing grove . O thou , to whom thefe mournful lines I fend , My promis'd husband , and my dearest friend ...
... stand In verdant arches on the fertile land ; Beneath her shade the tawny Indians rove , Or hunt , at large , through the wide echoing grove . O thou , to whom thefe mournful lines I fend , My promis'd husband , and my dearest friend ...
Страница 138
... stand , And fall a victim for the guilty land ; Then thus was feen , abandon'd and forlorn , The king , the father , and the faint to mourn . How could't thou , artist , then thy skill display ? Thy fteady hands thy favage heart betray ...
... stand , And fall a victim for the guilty land ; Then thus was feen , abandon'd and forlorn , The king , the father , and the faint to mourn . How could't thou , artist , then thy skill display ? Thy fteady hands thy favage heart betray ...
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Ah willow Albion's arms Atreus Atrides beneath blefs bleft blood boaſt breaſt Britain's Britannia's Britiſh brow Cæfar's cauſe charms crown diftant divine doft dreadful Ev'n eyes facred fafe faid fair fam'd fame fate fatire fceptre fcorn fear feas fecret fhade fhall fhining fhore fhould fide fight filent fing fire firft firſt fix'd flain fleep fmiling foes fome fong footh foul ftand ftill ftreams fuch fwain fweet fwell fword Gaul goddeſs gods grace hand heart heaven hecatomb hero himſelf Iliad Jove juſt kings lefs lyre maid monarch mortal Mufe Muſe muſt ne'er Nereids numbers nymph o'er paffion peace pleaſure praiſe pride prieſt race rage raiſe reign rife riſe ſhade ſhall ſhare ſhe ſhine ſhore ſkies ſmile ſpeak ſpread ſpring ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtill ſtood ſweet thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand verſe whofe whoſe youth
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Страница 187 - Oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires ! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Страница 195 - Tyber's fhore, (Nor mean the tafk) each breathing buft explore, Line after line with painful patience trace, This Roman grandeur, that Athenian grace ; Vain care of parts ; if, impotent of foul, Th...
Страница 53 - The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. " Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, Be finest at...
Страница 189 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend : To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Страница 124 - O'er his paternal hills of snow, And into these tremendous speeches Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Страница 206 - The Sun's meridian rays Veil the horizon in one mighty blaze : Nor moon nor star in Heaven's blue arch is seen With kindly rays to silver o'er the green, Grateful to fairy eyes ; they secret take Their rest, and only wretched mortals wake.
Страница 120 - And view the hero with insatiate eyes. ' In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales Propitious rise to swell the British sails. Hither the fame of England's monarch brings The vows and friendships of the neighb'ring kings; Mature in wisdom, his extensive mind Takes in the blended interests of mankind, The world's great patriot.
Страница 190 - If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove: Twas there of Just and Good he...
Страница 109 - Accept, great Anne, the tears their memory draws, Who nobly perish'd in their sovereign's cause : For thou in pity bid'st the war give o'er, Mourn'st thy slain heroes, nor wilt venture more. Vast price of blood on each victorious day ! (But Europe's freedom doth that price repay.) Lamented triumphs ! when one breath must tell That Marlborough conquer'd, and that Dormer fell.
Страница 200 - Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric, stands, And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To gravel walks, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies ; Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow, And chints, the rival of the showery bow.