Specimens of the British Poets ...

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W. Suttaby, 1809
 

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Página 183 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear...
Página 189 - And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Página 14 - Fear no more the frown o' the great: Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Página 180 - Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes...
Página 223 - Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well : Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
Página 186 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful jollity ; Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles.
Página 180 - But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight.
Página 163 - Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, Happier than the happiest king. All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants, belong to thee ; All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice; Man for thee does sow and plow; Farmer he, and landlord thou ! Thou dost innocently joy, Nor does thy luxury destroy.
Página 216 - Art she had none, yet wanted none, For Nature did that Want supply: So rich in Treasures of her Own, She might our boasted Stores defy: Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.
Página 125 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?

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