The Works of the Author of The Night-thoughts: In Three Volumes, Količina 1

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F. and C. Rivington, 1802 - 383 strani

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Stran ix - Night Thoughts" he has exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections and striking allusions, a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour. This is one of the few poems in which blank verse could not be changed for rhyme but with disadvantage.
Stran 24 - Father of mercies ! why from silent earth Didst thou awake, and curse me into birth? Tear me from quiet, ravish me from night, And make a thankless present of thy light? Push into being a reverse of thee, And animate a clod with misery?
Stran 152 - While sea and air, great Brunswick ! shook our state, And sported with a king's and kingdom's fate, Depriv'd of what she lov'd, and press'd by fear Of ever losing what she held most dear, How did Britannia, like * Achilles, weep...
Stran 191 - Where, shut from use, unnumber'd treasures sleep ? Where, down a thousand fathoms from the day, Springs the great fountain, mother of the sea ? Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread. Whole worlds of waters rolling o'er thy head ? Hath the cleft centre open'd wide to thee ? Death's inmost chambers didst thou ever see ? E'er knock at his tremendous gate, and wade To the black portal through th' incumbent shade ? Deep are those shades ; but shades still deeper hide My counsels from the ken...
Stran 146 - One to destroy, is murder by the law ; And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe ; To murder thousands, takes a specious name, War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
Stran 35 - Incens'd Maria may her rage forget ; And I to death my duty will improve, And what you miss in empire, add in love — Your godlike soul is open'd in your look, And I have faintly your great meaning spoke, For this alone I'm pleas'd I wore the crown, To find with what content we lay it down. Heroes may win, but 'tis a heavenly race Can quit a throne with a becoming grace.
Stran 198 - Bieem, which knows no Lord but Me, Low at the crib, and ask an alms of thee ; Submit his unworn shoulder to the yoke, Break the stiff clod, and o'er thy furrow smoke ? Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care ; Lay on his neck the toil of all the year ; Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors, And cast his load among thy gather'd stores.
Stran 81 - Of court and town the noontide masquerade ; Where swarms of knaves the vizor quite disgrace, And hide secure behind a naked face? Where nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind...
Stran 63 - The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns, more or less, and glows, in every heart : The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure ; The modest shun it, but to make it sure.
Stran 96 - O fairest of Creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet...

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