The Poetical Works of Mr. William Collins: With Memoirs of the Author; and Observations on His Genius and WritingsT. Becket and P. A. Dehondt, 1765 - 166 páginas |
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Abra AGIB allegorical almoſt ANTISTROPHE beſt blaſt bleſs bleſt breathe Britiſh charm circumſtances delight deſcription deſerts deſign deſpair diſtance ECLOGUE Enthuſiaſt expreſſive eyes fair fame Fancy fear fide filent firſt firſt from Schiraz fix'd flowers folemn fong foreſts genius gentleſt Georgian Georgian maid grief grove heart inſpir'd inſpiring juſt laſt lov'd meaſure midſt moſt mountain Muſe muſt myrtles numbers nymph o'er ODE ODE paſſions Pity plain pleaſing pleaſure poet poet's poetical poetry preſent raiſe reaſon riſe royal Abbas ſad ſaid ſame ſay ſcene ſecret ſee ſeek ſeems ſeen ſentiment ſhade ſhall ſhare ſhe ſhed ſhepherds ſhore ſhould ſhrine ſide ſimple SIR THOMAS HANMER ſoft ſome ſong ſounds ſpear ſpecies ſpirit ſpread ſprings ſtand ſtate ſtill ſtore ſtorm ſtrain ſtreams ſtrength ſubject ſuch ſullen ſung ſwains ſweet ſword temperate vale thee Theocritus theſe thoſe thou thought thro vale verſe viſions whoſe wild wiſh wizzard youth
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Página 55 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Página 151 - Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare : On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait : Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE.
Página 170 - Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star * arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car.
Página 84 - O nymph endear'd ! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime!
Página 96 - No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew ! The red-breast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.
Página 121 - What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger...
Página 46 - Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine.
Página 178 - And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair...
Página 73 - ... The gradual dusky veil, While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont> And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light : While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes : So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name ! ODE TO PEACE.
Página 81 - He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat...