The Minor Poems of William Cowper of the Inner Temple, Parte1

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John Sharpe, 1818 - 108 páginas

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Página 13 - With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, " Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away...
Página 14 - 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...
Página 88 - He soon replied, I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linendraper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; And for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and clear.
Página 90 - Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed.
Página 14 - Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile, — it answers — Yes.
Página 15 - Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid...
Página 38 - When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glowworm by his spark ; So stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent — Did you admire my lamp...
Página 47 - Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. 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 tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant...
Página 115 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Página 91 - His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; Away went hat and wig ! He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig.

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