The Minor Poems of William Cowper of the Inner TempleJ. Sharpe, 1818 - Всего страниц: 216 |
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Стр. 10
... honours . Thus to Time Knee - timber is found in the crooked arms of oak , which , by reason of their distortion , are easily adjusted to the angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides meet . The task was left to whittle thee away ...
... honours . Thus to Time Knee - timber is found in the crooked arms of oak , which , by reason of their distortion , are easily adjusted to the angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides meet . The task was left to whittle thee away ...
Стр. 13
... honour with an artless song , Affectionate , a mother lost so long , I will obey , not willingly alone , But gladly , as the precept were her own : And , while that face renews my filial grief , Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief ...
... honour with an artless song , Affectionate , a mother lost so long , I will obey , not willingly alone , But gladly , as the precept were her own : And , while that face renews my filial grief , Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief ...
Стр. 15
... honours to thee as my numbers may ; Perhaps a frail memorial , but sincere , Not scorn'd in heaven , though little noticed here . Could Time , his flight reversed , restore the hours , When , playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers ...
... honours to thee as my numbers may ; Perhaps a frail memorial , but sincere , Not scorn'd in heaven , though little noticed here . Could Time , his flight reversed , restore the hours , When , playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers ...
Стр. 19
... honour draws , Who write in blood the merits of your cause , Who strike the blow , then plead your own defence , Glory your aim , but justice your pretence , Behold in Etna's emblematic fires The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ...
... honour draws , Who write in blood the merits of your cause , Who strike the blow , then plead your own defence , Glory your aim , but justice your pretence , Behold in Etna's emblematic fires The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ...
Стр. 49
... honour'd thee , Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard . ' Thou art not voice alone , but hast beside Both heart and head : and couldst with music sweet Of attic phrase and senatorial tone , Like thy renown'd forefathers , far and wide ...
... honour'd thee , Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard . ' Thou art not voice alone , but hast beside Both heart and head : and couldst with music sweet Of attic phrase and senatorial tone , Like thy renown'd forefathers , far and wide ...
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The Minor Poems of William Cowper of the Inner Temple, Объемы 1-2 William Cowper Полный просмотр - 1818 |
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ALEXANDEr selkirk Aspasio beneath bird boast bosom calender call'd Catharina charms COWPER cried dæmons dear death declension delight design'd divine dream dwell e'en earth Edmonton eyes fear feel flew flowers form'd friendship GEORGE ROMNEY Gilpin grace grief hear heard heart Heaven honour horse John Gilpin JOHN SHARPE JOSEPH HILL knew LADY learn'd length life's light live Mary mind MINOR POEMS Muses ne'er neighbour never night numbers nymph o'er once pass'd peace perhaps pine-apples pleasure poet poet's PORTBURY praise prove rest RICHARD WESTALL rose scene seem'd shine shore side sight sing skies smile song SONNET soon sorrow soul sound Stamp'd storm sweet tear tell thee theme thine Thou hast thought THRACIAN Throckmorton toil treasure truth Twas verse voice waste Whate'er WILLIAM COWPER WILLIAM HAYLEY wind wish wonder youth
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Стр. 91 - Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt when he set out, Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 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!
Стр. 54 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Стр. 17 - My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; But higher far my proud pretensions rise — The son of parents passed into the skies.
Стр. 92 - Were shatter'd at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he...
Стр. 16 - Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, So thou, with sails how swift, hast reached the shore 'Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,' And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Стр. 95 - Ah ! luckless speech and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear ; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear. Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And gallop'd off with all his might, As he had done before.
Стр. 15 - Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid...
Стр. 90 - His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed. But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat. So,
Стр. 36 - He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark; So, stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent — Did you admire my lamp...
Стр. 53 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary...