A Grammar of the Persian Language

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W. and J. Richardson, 1771 - 153 strani
 

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Stran 129 - Require the borrow'd gloss of art* Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, And talk of odours, talk of wine, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom : 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Stran 129 - tis all a dream; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. Beauty has such...
Stran 127 - That rosy cheek, that lily hand, • Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand. Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, Whate'er the frowning zealots say : Tell them, their Eden cannot show A stream so clear as Rocnabad, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
Stran 121 - One day as I was in the bath, a friend of mine put into my hand a piece of scented clay. I took it, and said to it, ' Art thou musk or ambergris, for I am charmed with thy perfume...
Stran 126 - If that lovely maid of Shiraz would accept my heart,. I , would give for the mole on her cheek the cities of Samarcand and Bokhara.
Stran 129 - Egyptian dame Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy : For her how fatal was the hour, When to the banks of Nilus came A youth fo lovely and fo coy ! But ah! fweet maid, my counfel hear ; (Youth...
Stran ix - ... the nations of Europe from their inattention to it : and they would, perhaps, have persisted in despising it, if they had not been animated by the most powerful incentive that can influence the mind of man: interest was the...
Stran x - ... of conveying their sentiments ; the servants of the Company received letters which they could not read, and were ambitious of gaining titles of which they could not comprehend the meaning ; it was found highly dangerous to employ the natives as interpreters, upon whose fidelity they could...
Stran 130 - Can aught be cruel from thy lip ? Yet fay, how fell that bitter word From lips which ftreams of fweetnefs fill, Which nought but drops of honey fip ? Go boldly forth, my fimple lay, Whofe accents flow with artlefs eafe, Like orient pearls at random fining ; Thy notes are fweet, the damfels fay, But oh, far fweeter, if they pleafe The nymph for whom thefe notes are fung L END OF THE GRAMMAR.

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