The British anthology; or, Poetical library, Объемы 7-8 |
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Стр. 13
... hours possess In Hampstead , courted by the western wind ; Or Greenwich , waving o'er the winding flood ; Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds Of Dulwich , yet by barbarous arts unspoil'd . Green rise the Kentish hills in cheerful ...
... hours possess In Hampstead , courted by the western wind ; Or Greenwich , waving o'er the winding flood ; Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds Of Dulwich , yet by barbarous arts unspoil'd . Green rise the Kentish hills in cheerful ...
Стр. 24
... hours . But let the man whose bones are thinly clad , With cheerful ease and succulent repast Improve his habit if he can ; for each Extreme departs from perfect sanity . I could relate what table this demands , Or that complexion ...
... hours . But let the man whose bones are thinly clad , With cheerful ease and succulent repast Improve his habit if he can ; for each Extreme departs from perfect sanity . I could relate what table this demands , Or that complexion ...
Стр. 26
... hour of sickness or disgust . But other ills the ambiguous feast pursue , Besides provoking the lascivious taste . Such various foods , though harmless each alone , Each other violate ; and oft we see What strife is brew'd , and what ...
... hour of sickness or disgust . But other ills the ambiguous feast pursue , Besides provoking the lascivious taste . Such various foods , though harmless each alone , Each other violate ; and oft we see What strife is brew'd , and what ...
Стр. 36
... hours return Of drinking deep ! I would not daily taste , Except when life declines , ev'n sober cups . Weak withering age no rigid law forbids , With frugal nectar , smooth and slow with balm , The sapless habit daily to bedew , And ...
... hours return Of drinking deep ! I would not daily taste , Except when life declines , ev'n sober cups . Weak withering age no rigid law forbids , With frugal nectar , smooth and slow with balm , The sapless habit daily to bedew , And ...
Стр. 43
... hours beguile , And pleasing talk , that starts no timorous fame , With witless wantonness to hunt it down : Or through ... hour Of timely rest forget . Sometimes , at eve His neighbours lift the latch , and bless unbid His festal roof ...
... hours beguile , And pleasing talk , that starts no timorous fame , With witless wantonness to hunt it down : Or through ... hour Of timely rest forget . Sometimes , at eve His neighbours lift the latch , and bless unbid His festal roof ...
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Amang Aspasio auld auld lang syne bard beneath birks of Aberfeldy blast blate blithe blood bloom bonnie bosom braes brave breast breath BRIG charms chyle Cutty-sark dear dearie death deil delight ev'n fair fame fancy Farewell fate fear flowers frae Gilpin grace green groves Halloween hear heart Heaven hope hour ilka JOHN GILPIN JOHN SHARPE labour lass lassie life's lo'es mair Mary maun mind mony morning mourn Muse Nature's ne'er never night numbers o'er owre pain peace pleasure poor pride rage roar round scenes seem'd shade shine sing skies smile song soon soul spring stream sugh sweet TAM O'SHANTER taste tears tender thee There's thine thou toil TUNE-The Twas wander waste wave weary weel Whyles wild winds winter wretch young Jessie youth
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Стр. 8 - Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,' That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Стр. 7 - Like streamer long and gay, Till loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung, A bottle swinging at each side As hath been said or sung. The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all, And every soul cried out, Well done ! As loud as he could bawl.
Стр. 12 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown : May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more...
Стр. 12 - Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot ; But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, Tis now become a history little...
Стр. 33 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...
Стр. 33 - How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
Стр. 9 - Inclined to tarry there ; For why ? — his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong ; So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still.
Стр. 30 - Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Стр. 29 - 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.
Стр. 30 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is...