The English Poets: Addison to Blake

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Thomas Humphry Ward
Macmillan, 1881
 

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Página 567 - Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that, For a
Página 288 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Página 566 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi
Página 263 - Christ, art all I want; More than all in thee I find; Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind. Just and holy is thy name, I am all unrighteousness; False and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace. Plenteous grace with thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound, Make and keep me pure within.
Página 335 - The Epitaph. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own, Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
Página 262 - Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.
Página 562 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my...
Página 481 - I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine : And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Página 374 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Página 376 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His Heaven commences ere the world be past!

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