A Complete Edition of the Poets of Great Britain..: Wilkie. Dodsley. Shaw. Smart. Langhorne. Bruce. Chatterton. Graeme. Glover. Lovibond. Penrose. Mickle. Jago. Scott. Johnson. W. Whitehead. Jenyns. Logan. Warton. Cotton. BlacklockJohn & Arthur Arch, ... and for Bell & Bradfute & I. Mundell & Company, Edinburgh., 1795 |
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Страница 12
... peace to end our toils , When foes fecure already fhare our spoils ? Peace to expect from flight itself were vain ; And flight , I know , your gen'rous fouls difdain . He faid . The chiefs with indignation burn'd ; And Diomed fubmitting ...
... peace to end our toils , When foes fecure already fhare our spoils ? Peace to expect from flight itself were vain ; And flight , I know , your gen'rous fouls difdain . He faid . The chiefs with indignation burn'd ; And Diomed fubmitting ...
Страница 15
... peace ; For great Atrides , by my valour flain , A Liek's corfe , lies ftretch'd upon the plain . Only be men and ... peaceful walls . Exalting thus , the hero rush'd along ; And kindled , with his fhouts , the vulgar throng . Reily'd ...
... peace ; For great Atrides , by my valour flain , A Liek's corfe , lies ftretch'd upon the plain . Only be men and ... peaceful walls . Exalting thus , the hero rush'd along ; And kindled , with his fhouts , the vulgar throng . Reily'd ...
Страница 21
... peace , our haughty foes : No peace can grow , no friendship e'er be found , When mutual hate has torn fo wide a wound .. Yet for a truce of feven days space I plead , And fun'ral obfequies to grace the dead . Nor were it juft , that ...
... peace , our haughty foes : No peace can grow , no friendship e'er be found , When mutual hate has torn fo wide a wound .. Yet for a truce of feven days space I plead , And fun'ral obfequies to grace the dead . Nor were it juft , that ...
Страница 34
... peace , and firr'd a tempeft in my foul : By their mild fight , in innocence array'd , Te guilty madnefs was my heart betray d . Deiphobus is dead ; his mournful ghoft , Lamenting , wanders on the Stygian coaft , And blames my wrath ...
... peace , and firr'd a tempeft in my foul : By their mild fight , in innocence array'd , Te guilty madnefs was my heart betray d . Deiphobus is dead ; his mournful ghoft , Lamenting , wanders on the Stygian coaft , And blames my wrath ...
Страница 36
... peace , prevails Alke , and weighs their deeds with equal fcales , Her freedom claims , with prefents to atone For what our rage perfidioufly has done : Let us not , now , to further wrongs proceed ; But fear the curfe for perjury ...
... peace , prevails Alke , and weighs their deeds with equal fcales , Her freedom claims , with prefents to atone For what our rage perfidioufly has done : Let us not , now , to further wrongs proceed ; But fear the curfe for perjury ...
Чести термини и фразе
Abrocomes Ælla arms beauty bofom breaft Catcott charms Chatterton Creon defcend Demaratus Diomed Diomedon epic poetry Ev'n ev'ry fable facred fafe faid fair fame fate fatire fcenes feems feen fenfe fhade fhall fhore fhould fide figh fight filent firſt flain fleep flower fmile foft fome fong foon forrow foul fpear fpirit fpread ftand ftill ftrain ftream fuch fure fwain fweet fwelling genius Greece hand heart heav'n hero himſelf honour Hyperanthes Lacedemon laft lefs Leonidas loft maid mind moft moſt mufe mufic muft muſt numbers o'er Oileus paffion plain pleaſe pleaſure poem poet pow'r praife praiſe prefent pride profe rage reafon reft rife rofe ſhall ſtate ſtill tear Theban Thebes thee thefe theſe thie thofe thoſe thou tow'rs uſe vale virtue warriors whofe wylle wythe Xerxes youth
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Страница 135 - Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word : Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.
Страница 263 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Страница 143 - Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty, in both the last. The force of Nature could no farther go ; To make a third she joined the former two.
Страница 264 - There let me sleep forgotten in the clay, When Death shall shut these weary aching eyes, — Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise.
Страница 187 - Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said To MOSES; while earth heard in dread, And, smitten to the heart, At once above, beneath, around, All Nature, without voice or sound, Replied, "O LORD, THOU ART.
Страница 531 - Thy successful arms we hail ; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.
Страница 158 - And num'rous was th' accepting throng. At length pale penury seiz'd the dame, And fortune fled, and ruin came ; She found her riches at an end, And that she had not made one friend.
Страница 127 - Ye carry armies on your tow'r-crown'd backs, And grace the turban'd tyrants, bow to him Who is as great, as perfect and as good In his less-striking wonders, till at length The eye's at fault and seeks the assisting glass.
Страница 376 - Mercury completes his transient year, Glowing, refulgent, with reflected glare; Bright Venus occupies a wider way, The early harbinger of night and day ; More distant still our globe terraqueous turns, Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns ; Around her rolls the lunar orb of light, Trailing her silver glories through the night. On the earth's orbit see the various signs, Mark where the sun, our year completing, shines ; First the bright Ram his languid ray improves ; Next glaring wat'ry thro...
Страница 315 - Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe ; Hee journey'd to the castle-gate, And to Syr Charles dydd goe. But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, And eke hys lovynge wyfe, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. " O goode Syr Charles!" sayd Canterlone, " Badde tydyngs I doe brynge."