The Works of the British Poets: With Lives of the Authors, المجلد 14

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Mitchell, Ames, and White, 1819
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الصفحة 97 - tongues resound, I bridle in my struggling Muse, with pain, That longs to launch into a bolder strain. But I've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song: My humble verse demands a softer theme, A painted meadow or a purling stream; Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,
الصفحة 92 - I turn my ravish'd eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise ; Poetic fields encompass me around, And still I seem to tread on classic ground ; For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, That not a mountain rears its head unsung, Kenown'd in verse each shady thicket grows, And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.
الصفحة 95 - blessings with a wasteful hand; But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart, The smiles of Nature and the charms of Art, While proud Oppression in her vallies reigns, And Tyranny usurps her happy plains ? The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The
الصفحة 345 - all books else appear so mean, so poor, Verse will seem prose ; but still persist to read, And Homer will be all the books you need. Had Bossu never writ, the world had still, Like Indians, view'd this wond'rous piece of skill; As something of divine the work
الصفحة 96 - Tis Liberty ,that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. Others with tow'ring piles may please the sight, And in their proud aspiring domes delight, A nicer touch to the stretch'd canvass give, Or teach their animated rocks to live
الصفحة 364 - Selinda goes to prayers, If I but ask the favour; And yet the tender fool's in tears, When she believes I'll leave her. Would I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her! Would she could make of me a saint, Or I of her a sinner!
الصفحة 241 - shows her awful face; Where little villains must submit to fate, That great ones may enjoy the world in state ; There stands a dome,f majestic to the sight, And sumptuous arches bear its oval height; A golden globe plac'd high with artful skill, Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill: This pile was, by the pious
الصفحة 332 - Of every star that heaven doth shew. And every herb that sips the dew; Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.' There let time's creeping winter shed His hoary snow around my head; And while I feel, by fast degrees, My sluggard blood wax chill, and freeze. Let thought unveil to my fix'd eye The scenes of deep eternity, Till life dissolving at the view,
الصفحة 380 - and my Lady, in token of respect, Gratefulness, and mutual Esteem. ' I shall with pleasure take upon me to draw this amiable, quiet, deserving, unpretending Christian and Philosophical character, in His Epitaph. There Truth may be spoken in a few words ; as for Flourish, & Oratory, &. Poetry, I leave

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