The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray, Thomas Parnell, William Collins, Matthew Green and Thomas Warton1883 |
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الصفحة 11
... hope , ever will have , to look on life with something worse than in- difference , is yet no enemy to it , but can look backward on many bitter moments , partly with satisfaction , and partly with patience ; and forward , too , on a ...
... hope , ever will have , to look on life with something worse than in- difference , is yet no enemy to it , but can look backward on many bitter moments , partly with satisfaction , and partly with patience ; and forward , too , on a ...
الصفحة 25
... hope you do not think me so ill - bred , or so imprudent , as to forfeit all my in- 1 " While insects from the threshold preach . " Green , in the " Grotto . " Dodsley's Misc . v . p . 161. - GRAY , terest in the survivor . I feel that ...
... hope you do not think me so ill - bred , or so imprudent , as to forfeit all my in- 1 " While insects from the threshold preach . " Green , in the " Grotto . " Dodsley's Misc . v . p . 161. - GRAY , terest in the survivor . I feel that ...
الصفحة 29
... Hope is theirs , by Fancy fed , Less pleasing when possest ; The tear forgot as soon as shed , The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health of rosy huc , Wild wit , invention ever new , 1 " And bees their honey redolent of spring ...
... Hope is theirs , by Fancy fed , Less pleasing when possest ; The tear forgot as soon as shed , The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health of rosy huc , Wild wit , invention ever new , 1 " And bees their honey redolent of spring ...
الصفحة 60
... hope they burl . But none from Cattraeth's vale return , Save Aëron brave , and Conan strong , ( Bursting through the bloody throng ) And I , the meanest of them all , That live to weep and sing their fall . HAVE ye seen the tusky boar ...
... hope they burl . But none from Cattraeth's vale return , Save Aëron brave , and Conan strong , ( Bursting through the bloody throng ) And I , the meanest of them all , That live to weep and sing their fall . HAVE ye seen the tusky boar ...
الصفحة 70
... hope repose , ) 1 The Bosom of his Father and his God . A LONG STORY . [ LADY COBHAM resided in the old mansion at Stoke , and , having ead the Elegy in manuscript , wished to know the author . To fulfil her desire a relation , Miss ...
... hope repose , ) 1 The Bosom of his Father and his God . A LONG STORY . [ LADY COBHAM resided in the old mansion at Stoke , and , having ead the Elegy in manuscript , wished to know the author . To fulfil her desire a relation , Miss ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Abra airy amavit ancient atque bards beauty beneath blest bloom bowers breast breathe bright charms Collins Comus Cras amet crown'd deep delight divine dread Eclogues eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire fix'd flame flowers frog genius glory glow goddess golden grace Gray Greece green grove hail hand head heart Hermit Hesiod Joseph Warton kings light lyre magic maid mind Muse Naiads never night numbers nymph o'er Ovid panegyric Parnell passion pensive Pindar plain pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope praise pride Queen rage rise round sacred scene Scriblerus Club shade shine sing smile soft solemn song soul sound Spleen spring stanza stream sublime swains sweet thee Theocritus thine THOMAS PARNELL THOMAS WARTON thou thought toil Twas vale verse Warton wave wild wind wing youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 70 - Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
الصفحة 29 - Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace ; Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave...
الصفحة 43 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a...
الصفحة 28 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
الصفحة 30 - The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue ; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th
الصفحة 68 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
الصفحة 69 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Blushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
الصفحة 67 - Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
الصفحة 59 - midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams ! Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet ; be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ! And hears their simple bell ! and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil...
الصفحة 42 - On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.