The British anthology; or, Poetical library, Томови 7-8 |
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Страница 33
Happy in temperate peace ! their equal days Felt not the alternate fits of feverish
mirth And sick dejection . Still serene and pleased They knew po pains but what
the tender soul With pleasure yields to , and would ne ' er forget . Bless ' d with ...
Happy in temperate peace ! their equal days Felt not the alternate fits of feverish
mirth And sick dejection . Still serene and pleased They knew po pains but what
the tender soul With pleasure yields to , and would ne ' er forget . Bless ' d with ...
Страница 42
... To plant the grove , or turn the barren mould . O happy he ! whom , when his
years decline , ( His fortune and his fame by worthy means Attain ' d , and equal
to his moderate mind ; His life approved by all the wise and good , ARMSTRONG
.
... To plant the grove , or turn the barren mould . O happy he ! whom , when his
years decline , ( His fortune and his fame by worthy means Attain ' d , and equal
to his moderate mind ; His life approved by all the wise and good , ARMSTRONG
.
Страница 51
Now happy he whose toil Has o ' er his languid powerless limbs diffused A
pleasing lassitude : he not in vain Invokes the gentle deity of dreams . His powers
the most voluptuously dissolve In soft repose : on him the balmy dews Of sleep
with ...
Now happy he whose toil Has o ' er his languid powerless limbs diffused A
pleasing lassitude : he not in vain Invokes the gentle deity of dreams . His powers
the most voluptuously dissolve In soft repose : on him the balmy dews Of sleep
with ...
Страница 40
I lock ' d her in my fond embrace ; Her heart was beating rarely ; My blessings on
that happy place , Amang the rigs o ' barley ! But by the moon and stars so bright ,
That shone that hour so clearly ! She aye shall bless that happy night Amang ...
I lock ' d her in my fond embrace ; Her heart was beating rarely ; My blessings on
that happy place , Amang the rigs o ' barley ! But by the moon and stars so bright ,
That shone that hour so clearly ! She aye shall bless that happy night Amang ...
Страница 99
Wi ' alter ' d voice , quoth I , sweet lass , Sweet as yon hawthorn ' s blossom , O !
happy , happy may he be That ' s dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light , I ' ve
far to gang , And fain wad be thy lodger ! I ' ve served my king and country lang : .
Wi ' alter ' d voice , quoth I , sweet lass , Sweet as yon hawthorn ' s blossom , O !
happy , happy may he be That ' s dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light , I ' ve
far to gang , And fain wad be thy lodger ! I ' ve served my king and country lang : .
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Чести термини и фразе
auld banks bear beneath blood body bonnie bosom breast breath charms dear death deep delight ev'n face fair fame fate fear feel fire flowers frae give grace green grow hand happy head hear heart Heaven hills hope hour human kind land lassie leave less light live Mary meet mind mony morning Muse Nature ne'er never night o'er once pain peace pleasure poor pride rage rest rise round scenes shade side sing slow smile soft song soon soul sound spread spring stream sweet taste tears tell tender thee thing thou thought Till toil truth turn Twas wander waste wave wild winds winter wish young youth
Популарни одломци
Страница 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.
Страница 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.
Страница 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...
Страница 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...
Страница 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...
Страница 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.
Страница 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.
Страница 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
Страница 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.
Страница 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...
Библиографски подаци
| Наслов | The British anthology; or, Poetical library, Томови 7-8 The British anthology; or, Poetical library, British anthology |
| Аутор | British anthology |
| Издао/ла | 1825 |
| Оригинал из | Универзитет Оксфорд |
| Дигитализовано | 27 сеп 2006 |
| Извоз навода | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |